Frailed Loyalty
by BFCIV
Summary: In a world where a PMC has enough power to rival that of the United States military, a band of eight Navy SEALs must fight the most difficult battle of their lives.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

There was a time when war was a business, a profitable venture in which life was nothing more than an expendable resource. As the world faded into hundreds of low intensity conflicts, private military corporations, also known as PMCs, stood in place of national armies, who would have otherwise been responsible for resolving such volatile hostilities. These thriving enterprises served as havens for the victims of military downsizing, soldiers who had no cause and no flag to fight for. In exchange for recognition of their capabilities, the disenfranchised warriors gladly served in the ranks of a company's private army. Professional war fighting became a fledging industry.

Bypassing the restrictions of politics and bureaucracy, private military corporations could fight any war, anytime, anywhere. Implementing weapons of their own design, these corporate armies obliterated all adversaries standing in their way. Sometimes they were peacekeepers, other times they were conquerors. All that mattered to these organizations were the clients, who ranged from terrorists, humanitarian groups, international businesses, and even nations. The ones who paid the most were the ones worth fighting for.

While the privatization of warfare was a growing trend, national armies were by no means dissolved. But their roles became minimized, as countries found it more convenient to employ private armies to protect their interests and suppress recalcitrant uprisings. Nations, who chose to fight their own battles however, relied heavily on PMCs for supplies. Everything from rifles to fighter aircraft was being purchased in massive quantities, fostering the growth of several unstable arms races.

Competition for clients eventually began pitting private military organizations against one another. Corporations started exploiting rivalries between several West African nations, boosting arms sales, with hopes of initiating conflict. When enmity turned to hostility, government troops were nowhere to be found. Corporate soldiers were the ones doing the fighting. This period of warfare became known as the Corporate Wars. After a decade of vicious fighting, West Africa lay ravaged. Shocked by the devastation, world leaders unanimously agreed to arrest those responsible for the destruction. Hundreds were charged with crimes against humanity, forcing many of the PMCs to disband. Those PMCs that remained were further stifled by UN resolutions designed to limit their strength. Faced with no other options, all but one corporation filed for bankruptcy. This sole survivor went by the name, Defense Enterprises.

Unlike the PMCs involved in the Corporate Wars, Defense Enterprises steered clear of tensions between nations. Instead, the company chose to work alongside many western nations fighting terrorists abroad. Shrewd political maneuvering on behalf of the company's executives allowed the corporation to establish functioning relationships with some of the globe's most powerful countries.

Since the company was on good terms with the world community, business went along as usual. Staying true to its mission of security and international well being, Defense Enterprises continued working with the world community to combat terrorism and rogue states. Peace was becoming a definite reality, or so they thought.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Breaking In**

Briefing rooms are not terribly exciting places and neither was this one. It was a simple space known only for its cream-colored walls and rather unspectacular carpeting. Furniture consisted of cheap plastic tables and chairs. Fluorescent lights graced the ceiling, a giant computer screen sat off to the side, and the only piece of artwork if one would call it that, was a dry erase board covered in heinous red handwriting. The folks at Home and Garden Television would be appalled. Not that the warriors really cared though. Fighting was their specialty, not interior decorating.

As to what exactly a group of sailors were doing in an Army briefing room was a different matter all its own. Over the last eighteen months a SEAL platoon began a mandatory training regimen in preparation for an upcoming mission. They were constantly shuffling back and forth from their home training facilities in Little Creek, Virginia to others scattered along the east coast. Now at Fort Bragg the SEALs were busy working on various combat scenarios, which ranged from high altitude jumps all the way down to room clearing exercises.

Today's routine tasked several elite warriors with raiding a three story apartment building taken over by an unknown number of enemy combatants. In actuality, the apartment building was one of the many killhouses specifically designed for practicing room clearing. An eager of bunch of paratroopers from the **All American** volunteered to play the role of the bad guys. Even though this was only an exercise everybody knew to treat it like the real thing. Besides, the SEALs were anxious to settle a bet with their Army counterparts. This was going to be more exciting than the yearly Army Navy football game.

Inside this indiscreet briefing room, the SEALs waited patiently for their briefing to begin. Some of them passed the time talking about recent basketball games whereas others opted to watch the news. By coincidence the running story related to their mission. Those interested quickly quieted their comrades. After all, they wanted to know what kind of situation they were getting into. No sense in ignoring a few important details.

_"Welcome to yet another edition of The Topic. Today's focus, the crisis in Brazil. Joining us this afternoon is former Secretary of State Guillermo Ramirez. Secretary Ramirez, we'd like to thank you for your time."_

_"Thank you Paul. Glad to be here."_

_"Now as all of our viewers are probably wondering, how did things manage to get this bad?"_

_"There are many ways to answer this question and I think its only fair to speak of this crisis in terms of cause and effect. As most of us can remember, about twelve years ago, Brazil started suffering from severe economic problems. Millions lost their jobs, others went on strike, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Brazil's withering economy led to a massive increase in poverty. In turn, this poverty caused widespread discontent amongst the populace. That being said, it is safe to say that a faltering economy was the root of all of Brazil's problems."_

_"So you say that a faltering economy was the cause and poverty was the effect?"_

_"That's correct Paul and as I mentioned earlier poverty led to widespread discontent, which was another cause and effect equation if you will. The people of Brazil were not shy of voicing their opinions and millions took to the streets in protest. They demanded that their government address the growing poverty problem either by creating jobs or reforming the whole economic system from the ground up. Of course these demands were not met, at least not fast enough to satisfy the masses. In due course peaceful protests turned into riots and it's easy to see why. People could not work and were unable to feed their children and the government that was supposed to take care of them was not delivering on promises."_

_"But afterwards things got really complicated. Terrorist attacks, kidnappings, assassinations."_

_"You hit it right on the nose Paul. Most Brazilians thought their message was not getting across. Now, in saying this, I do not mean to call the Brazilian people terrorists. Instead it was rather a few very angry individuals that decided to turn to violence as a means of convincing the politicos. Car bombings, kidnappings for ransom, and assassinations were the preferred techniques. Unfortunately, these self proclaimed liberators failed to take into account the consequences of their actions."_

_"And this is when the Brazilian government ordered their military to declare martial law throughout the country."_

_"Yup. Every province, city, town, anywhere people lived had troops roaming the streets. It was hoped the show of force would discourage more attacks and assassinations. These measures only served to aggravate matters. As far as Brazilians were concerned this was proof that their government only cared about the rich minorities while leaving the poor working class in a state of constant struggle and strife."_

_"Is it true that riots were not allowed?"_

_"Yes and the people only defied these statutes. To quell the riots, troops began using non-lethal weapons such as rubber bullets, tear gas, and occasional beatings. It was just like old times, but troops were the ones maintaining discipline instead of police. But sadly, a riot in Rio de Janeiro turned deadly. Even today, it is still unclear as to who exactly fired the first shot, but in looking back it really doesn't matter. When the first shots rang out, troops immediately fired bullets, lethal ones this time, into the crowd killing rioters on the spot. In retaliation a few of the rioters fired back at the troops, killing about three, I'm unsure about the exact statistics, but to make a long story short all hell broke lose. In the aftermath of the violent encounter about three hundred Brazilian rioters were lying dead in the streets."_

_"Was this the catalyst to civil war?"_

_"Many would say yes, and I'm inclined to say so myself. But I would not be offering a complete picture, as there were many other contributing factors tantamount to war. For the sake of our audience I will try and condense the details. The Rio Massacre as it became known sent shockwaves throughout the country. Many Brazilians no longer trusted their government and began taking up arms. Instead of rioting, people turned their attention to armed troops. In short, civilians began attacking troops very much like an insurgency."_

_"How did the military respond?"_

_"It is very interesting that you ask me this and I will tell you why in a moment. Yet, in answering your question as stated, the leash was let loose. Brazilian troops were ordered to outright crush the insurgency, which basically meant kill or capture anyone suspected of attempting to undermine the Federative Republic of Brazil, quoting the words of Brazil's then president Tomas Lucando in a memorandum he sent to various Brazilian generals. Now the interesting thing is that every division of the Brazilian military, whether they were army, marines, the air force and even the navy, was divided. Orders were not carried out and eventually large elements of the Brazilian military sided with the same people they were ordered to kill. Essentially, two sides were pitted against each other. Forces loyal to the government and forces for the so-called liberation of Brazil. Civil engulfed the whole country."_

_"This civil war lasted three years. Just how bad was the conflict?"_

_"Paul, it was absolutely devastating. Casualties rose into the tens of millions, with both sides thoroughly exhausting all of their resources. The country was a mess. Every viable piece of infrastructure was destroyed. A substantial portion of the Amazon was not even spared. Everywhere you looked there was rubble, burnt out tank hulks, and dead bodies. Roving bands of survivors fought one another for a stake of their ruined land. For a moment many nations wondered how Brazil would ever recover from such a tumultuous conflict."_

_"Can you elaborate upon the United Nations response?"_

_"To begin with, the United Nations was horrified and fearing a ripple effect throughout South America the Security Council convened. Unwilling to put their troops into harms way several nations reached a unanimous agreement to request the service of Defense Enterprises to restore order eventually paving the way for reconstruction."_

_"But if memory serves me correct, was it not the United Nations that disbanded several private military corporations, namely those involved in the Corporate Wars? Why did they even choose, let alone, consider Defense Enterprises as the group tasked with restoring order to Brazil? Were there not fears that this organization had ulterior motives?"_

_"There were powerful opponents to the United Nations initiative, including a few member nations of the Security Council. But fears subsided when the Secretary General reminded those who objected, that Defense Enterprises did not participate in the Corporate Wars and could be trusted without second thought. And who would have objected? Defense Enterprises worked side by side many national armies in their quest to rid the world of terrorism, a battle that we are still fighting to this very date."_

_"But we never suspected Defense Enterprises to do what they did. How did they manage to so cleverly deceive the world?"_

_"Many sides to this coin Paul, many sides. Some would say it was because of the many contracts Defense Enterprises had with many of the globe's nations, including the United States, United Kingdom, China, Japan, South Korea, Germany, just about any Western Nation you could think of. It was supposed, and I have come to this conclusion myself, that we, meaning the Western World, turned a blind eye to the exact workings of Defense Enterprises for fear of jeopardizing high profile contracts, which included weapons systems and security services. Such ignorance, intentional or otherwise, allowed Defense Enterprises to go about its business without any interference. If only we showed a little more circumspection in our decision making."_

_"What put Defense Enterprises in a bad light?"_

_"Well, to begin with, Defense Enterprises did what they were asked. They restored order and brought an end to the insurgency. But when kindly asked by the United Nations to turn over control, they refused and…"_

"I think we pretty much got the idea, gentlemen." A voice boomed from the back of a room.

"You know, Carl we were actually trying to learn something for a change."

"Sorry Chief." Lieutenant Carl Ackerson replied. "But you know how the chain of command works around here." He smiled.

"Chain of command my ass sir." Chief Petty Officer William Brigham smirked. "What ever happened to the backbone of the Navy, the enlisted men? We get shortchanged or something?"

"Aw shit here he goes again." A sailor smirked.

"Don't get him started." Another laughed.

"First of all Chief, I am more than honored to have you as an advisor on my team. You are a priceless asset, a skilled operator with countless years of experience. No other service is as lucky to have you serving in their ranks."

Brigham gave Ackerson a sarcastic stare. "That's the biggest piece of bullshit I've ever heard."

The room bawled full of laughter. Brigham had quite a reputation for his take on things. His thirteen years in the SEALs may have been a contributing factor.

"Alright gentlemen, simmer down." An imposing figure with slightly graying hair announced. "We got a bet to settle with the Army."

"HOOYAH, Senior Chief Moggs!" The sailors replied.

"Lieutenant, you have the honors."

"Thank you Senior Chief." Ackerson walked to the front of the room and began going through some slides on a giant computer screen. "We have a week and a half of training left. A few more days of training here at Bragg and will be heading down to Puerto Rico, to finalize our training. Normally, we would have been deploying as a full platoon. But, as most of you already know, our platoon has been split due to the sensitivity and uniqueness of our mission. The other boys are down in Florida doing their SDV training. You know our ultimate objective is to disable a dam. But that's still quite a ways away, so I won't get into that for now. Now, lets get down to business. Today gentlemen, we have the pleasure of raiding a three-story apartment building that happens to be commandeered by an unknown number of enemy soldiers. Ordinarily, we would have fast roped on to the roof and raided the building from there. But once we have boots on Brazilian soil, we won't have the luxury of using helicopters. So for this exercise we will have to infiltrate the building on foot. Just so we're clear on what we're up against, here are the diagrams of the building. I know we've seen this plan about a million times over the last couple of months, but please take your time in memorizing where the rooms are. Tangos could be waiting in either one of them, so stay sharp."

Ordinarily, the average SEAL team consists of six platoons, each of which is headed off by two officers and one chief. Within the platoon itself, there were two groups. In this particular case one group was led by Ackerson and another fellow SEAL. SEAL platoons usually did not split up, but as Ackerson reminded his men, the uniqueness of their upcoming operation dictated that the two groups work on accomplishing two different sets of tasks. Ackerson was not quite used to such a change in protocol. But he was an adaptive warrior. He'd get used to it eventually.

Everyone, including Ackerson began looking over the plans, their eyes taking into account the placement of doorways, windows, stairwells, and even possible barricades the enemy might have been using. They had done this sort of thing plenty of times before. But lately, the training personnel had gotten a little creative. None of them knew what to expect in the way of enemy tactics. Hopefully, previous training would take care of that.

"All of you should have the floor plans memorized by now. Time for assignments. Seven shooters this time. Silver, you got overwatch. It's your job to tell us what our friends in the apartment building are doing. Know where you'll be?"

**PO3** Harrison Silver happened to be the fresh out of what the SEALs referred to as the Finishing School. Ackerson and Moggs handpicked him for his deadly skill with an M-14 sniper rifle. He may have been new but at least he could shoot.

"Already picked a spot elltee." Silver nodded.

"You know that's cheating." Ackerson noted.

"Like the Army doesn't?" Silver smiled, gathering laughter from his teammates.

"Good point. Just make sure you're ready to shoot when given the order and don't get caught." Ackerson smiled. "Shooters! We got some pretty tall grass adjacent from our entry. My best bet is that they'll have guys looking from the roof and windows. But too bad for the enemy, it's quite windy outside. That means we can be somewhat tactical with movement. Wind blows, we move, wind stops, we stop. We all know what to do once we reach our objective. Standard room clearing procedures. Just do what you were trained to do. Any questions?"

The SEALs traded looks with each other then with Ackerson. Everything was set.

"Good, lets suit up."

Ackerson was the last out the door. He had to speak with Moggs for a second.

"Almost ready I think."

"Yeah, I'd say so, considering the difficulty of our upcoming mission." Moggs said.

"Just a little worried about Silver. You think he's prepped? It'll be his first time out."

"We'll on paper he's a hell'uva long rifleman and we've seen him shoot. He can kill shit, no doubt about it. Don't worry Carl, he'll hold up when things get real. That's why we train."

"Just wish he had some simple missions to get him acclimated to the field. This is a really difficult mission we got ahead of us."

"Oh it is, but look at it this way, we were all new guys at some point. Shit I was more worried about you, a new **OIC**. But look how you turned out."

"You're right. I had a hell'uva chief to show me the ropes." Ackerson smiled.

Moggs grinned. "I know and now it's your turn to motivate. Besides, give him the benefit of the doubt. He's a SEAL sniper and that's legendary in itself. I betcha those eighty-second boys are practically cursing themselves out right now, knowing that he'll be out there, not to mention that we'll be knocking down their door soon."

"I'll give 'em hell."

"Damn right you will Carl. Now get the hell outta my way. I gotta meet with the other half of the platoon."

"Hooyah, Senior Chief Petty Officer."

* * *

Truth be told, he felt more like a cheetah, in the middle of the Serengeti, stalking its prey. More precisely, Ackerson and his whole team felt like a pack of cheetahs. On their bellies, they crawled forward whenever the wind blew. Whenever the wind died down, they would slowly come to a stop. Moving in such a way was taking a long time, three hours to be exact. But these men had all day. As the saying went, patience is a virtue.

Meanwhile, safely hidden amongst some brush two hundred yards from the target building, Silver was keeping watch. From head to toe he was covered in mud, dirt, leaves, twigs, and sticks. His rifle even took on the form of an inconspicuous fallen tree branch. He was one with nature. He was invisible.

With his index finger resting only a centimeter from the trigger, Silver carefully moved his rifle back and forth scanning the large simple concrete building. Through the scope of his rifle he regarded a couple of soldiers. Two patrolled the rooftop, looking down into the grass, while those in the windows scanned the area with binoculars, hoping to get a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. _Enjoy the view fellas, you're not gonna find me_.

Back at the killhouse Silver's teammates remained silent and still in the grass. The wind stopped blowing for a while forcing them to stay put. They breathed lightly, trying to control how their body moved. It was a difficult exercise but these men wanted to keep the element of surprise alive.

Ackerson observed the door a few feet away from him, then the windows and rooftop. There was only so much his eyes could see without turning his body all the way over. Straining his eyes upwards he could barely make out the sentries doing their jobs. But that problem could be solved relatively easy.

"Silver, this is **TL**, status on sentries?" Ackerson whispered into this microphone.

"Two on roof, three in the windows, over." Silver replied, his voice crystal clear.

"TL copies. Request all-clear to move in, over?"

A brief pause. "That is a negative, over. The guys in the windows and rooftop are looking right down on your position. Advise that you stay put, over."

"Roger that Silver. Will await further advising, over."

"Silver copies, will advise, out."

As tension began to build, the SEALs concentrated on remaining still. Any sudden movements would give away their position. Seconds felt like they were lasting a little longer than expected. Time always had a way of slowing down when moments got uncomfortable and this one was no different. Ackerson was already starting to wonder if he walked right into an ambush. He honestly hoped he had not, because his gut instinct was telling him otherwise. The plan was already set in motion. No use in turning back now.

"I advise go. Say again, advise go, over!" Silver hissed.

"Assault moving! Silver, take them out!" Ackerson replied.

Trusting Silver's judgment Ackerson jumped at the first opportunity to move. While Silver was busy picking off the sentries, Ackerson and the shooters suddenly sprung from the grass, darting towards a wooden doorway. Two seconds flew by as they began to **stack** against the walls surrounding the single entrance. Three men waited on one side and four waited on the other. As two men quickly worked on placing a breaching charge, the others worked on providing cover, prepared to drop an unsuspecting enemy.

Silver furiously cocked the bolt of his rifle back and forth, ejecting a steaming empty shell casing from the chamber. Quickly readjusting his aim, Silver zeroed in on yet another target. Taking a few short breaths he was ready. The rifle rocked back and forth yet again. Just as the simulated bullet reached its destination, Silver's teammates began their elaborate routine of breaking and entering.

As the door shattered into several wooden fragments, Ackerson and Brigham tossed in two **flashbangs** hoping to stun anyone waiting inside. Following a brief bang and a loud flash, the SEALs disappeared into the building. Upon entering, the seven-man **element** separated into two teams. Ackerson's team stormed a room immediately to the left, while Brigham's proceeded further down the hall towards a room on the right. A flurry of shouts and gunshots ensued engulfing the narrow hallway in a hail of confusion.

A loud series of CLEARS announced that the first floor was free of threats. But the mission was far from over. Not wasting any time mourning the dead Ackerson led his men towards the second floor. They moved briskly up the steps, rifles pointed upwards lest anyone be waiting for them at the top. Much to their surprise no one was. Only silence and emptiness greeted them, more than Ackerson would have hoped for.

Immediately assessing the situation in front of him Ackerson once again split his team into two groups. Two rooms awaited entry, only this time they were directly across from each other. Knowing that both teams would be exposed when entering either room, the two leaders reached for their flashbangs. Pulling the pins they tossed the grenades in the rooms briefly turning away to avoid the bright flash. A second later they stormed in overwhelming the occupants, yelling out yet another series of CLEARS when the shooting was over.

Partially hidden behind the corner of the doorways, Ackerson and Brigham traded looks before identifying two targets running down a stairwell opposite their position. Taking aim, they loosed a couple of rounds. One of the targets fell but another scrambled back up the steps.

"Shit!" Ackerson hissed, loading another magazine. _A shootout's about to begin_. "Chief and I stay here. The rest of you fall back to stairwell. Move it fellas!"

Acknowledging the orders five of Ackerson's men rushed back to the stairs. Ackerson and Brigham stayed put, their rifles bearing towards the opposite set of stairs. Only a few seconds passed before the enemy showed up. They fired upon Ackerson and Brigham forcing them back around the doorways. But the rest of Ackerson's men made short work of the new arrivals.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Ackerson ordered his team to form up. Quietly giving everyone a hand signal, he cautiously moved forward waiting for the others to catch up. Yet, instead of stacking up single file Ackerson and his team stacked against both walls. That way double gunfire could be directed towards the staircase. Things were not necessarily working out as planned. But considering how bad things could have gotten Ackerson was taking things in stride.

All was quiet yet again, but Ackerson carefully trudged forward along with his team. Up to now no more enemies showed up. Either they were dead or still hiding but Ackerson wasn't taking any chances. _Better to take it slow than to be fast and sorry_. Finally reaching the stairwell complete with four limp bodies, Ackerson and his men began moving them out the way. One spirited soldier gave Brigham a spirited hand gesture. But in good spirit, Brigham patted the young soldier on his head as and continued to move more bodies out the way.

After clearing the stairs of dead, the SEALs quietly made their way to the third floor. On this level there were two rooms all the way down the hall. Once again the same tactic of deploying flashbangs before entry was used. Following the detonation the SEALs stormed in once again expecting enemies.

"Done." A voice announced.

Lights flicked on announcing the end of this exercise. High fives were exchanged and weapons were put on safe.

"Excellent job fellas. three minutes and thirty-one seconds. Could have done it a little faster, but that's why we train." Moggs said, taking off his ear protection.

"Yeah, I just need to learn to aim a bit better next time. Wouldn't have ended up in that brief shootout if it weren't for my bad shooting." Ackerson admitted.

"But you guys adapted pretty well regardless, good way to think on your feet. And Silver for his good shooting, unlike Ackerson here." Moggs teased. "But for now I suggest we head on back to review the tapes."

"Good idea. But lets rub this victory in first."

Ackerson's men were already joking around with the paratroopers, razzing them about the takedown. Fortunately everybody was feeling positive about things. They were on the same team during the real thing. And the rights to brag never hurt anyone either. With another successful exercise in the books Ackerson led his team back to the briefing room for the after action review._ Time for the fun part, time for the fun part.  
_

* * *

After a lengthy debriefing session, lasting a solid two hours, the slightly fatigued sailors made their way to a bar full of Army grunts. Despite the obvious rivalry between Army and Navy folks, Ackerson and his warriors were treated as welcome guests at one of Fort Bragg's local watering holes. A few troopers playfully booed their Navy counterparts likewise eliciting a couple of playful punches to the stomach. Jimi Hendrix's Red House was playing in the background creating an excellent atmosphere. Everybody was in good spirits. 

In between glasses of beer and chicken wings the sailors began speaking about a variety of things one of which was the upcoming mission. For some of them, the discussion was quite sobering, a reminder that sooner or later they would end up in a very dangerous place. But combat was what they trained for. Danger was a given in the world they inherited. Backing out now was out of the question. They were committed, committed to each other as a team. If one of them was going in all of them were going in.

"Finally, a mission that puts us center stage." **PO1** Ahmed Asher said. "Usually it was the boys from SEAL Team Three that got all the jobs. Damn, CENTCOM were some lucky bastards."

"Not since the Middle East calmed down. Now its our turn to put guns in the fight." Brigham added taking a sip of his beer.

"And in about a week and a half we get to do what we've been training to do for the last eighteen months." Ackerson reminded his men. "How you feeling about this Oliveira?"

"Like someone just said a bunch of nasty shit about my mother." The petty officer second class said. "I was born in Brazil, Rio de Janeiro to be exact. I am Brazilian my friends. Seeing some assholes that don't belong there is kinda disheartening."

"How long you live there?" Silver asked.

"About thirteen years." Oliveira managed after eating. "Explains the accent in case you were wondering." He chuckled. "My mother and father moved to Brooklyn when I was fifteen. Lived there ever since."

"Well, Oliveira looks like we'll get our chance to teach these vatos a lesson." **PO1** Guillermo Rios ensured his teammate.

"Damn Rios, aren't you sounding a little aggressive this evening? I mean I am still talking to the same guy who's our corpsman right?" Brigham laughed.

"Oh don't worry fellas, I'll always be there save your asses. But if one these Defense Enterprises jerks takes one, I'm not saving 'em. They don't deserve sympathy." Rios explained confidently.

"Hooyah to that!" Everybody toasted their glasses.

"You think this is your last deployment el-tee?" Silver asked.

"I'm thinking about it?" Ackerson replied leaning back in his chair.

"Oh and I thought we were going to spend many long nights together." Silver joked. "Some fun you are sir."

"I'm flattered Silver, I really am. But I'm taken already."

"I'm heartbroken."

Ackerson had a laugh at that. "Well, I'm engaged to my fiancé. We talked about my future in the SEALs. We had some disagreements, but we settled on me finishing this last year. After this year ends up, looks like I'm leaving. I love my team, but my girl's a hell'uva lot prettier than you ugly dogs."

"Shit sir". **PO1** Shane Kaufman groaned. "That means we'll have to take orders from this old fart from now on."

Everyone had a laugh at Brigham's expense.

"Thanks for the compliment Shane." Brigham patted the Bostonian on the back. "And to show my appreciation, you'll get point every time we go out. At least under my command, after I get promoted once this operation's in the books."

"Not if he retires first." **PO2** Jason Moore whispered to Rios.

"I heard that Moore." Brigham jokingly scolded. "You get rear security for that."

"Christ." Ackerson laughed. "Looking at how things are turning out already, maybe I might wanna stay around a few more years."

"Hey you've been too soft of the boys sir." Brigham smiled. "Time to toughen 'em up."

"If you say so." Ackerson resolved.

"But in all seriousness sir, family should always take precedence. Our superiors have reiterated this time and time again. You can only be around your loved ones if you're alive, not dead." Brigham explained.

"Yeah sir, this war thing's kind of overrated y'know." Rios chided.

"He's right sir." Moore chimed in. "My father died when I was five. He was a Marine. He loved his job and he loved us even more. But war doesn't seem to care though. It sucks not having your Dad around, believe me."

"And you've given how many years to the Navy sir?" Asher asked. "Seven solid years and ten good deployments including the one we embark on next week. You've earned a right to retire from this."

"There's more money out there." Oliveira lightened the mood. "I mean, look at Rios. He's a doctor, but they…"

"Sure as hell don't pay me like one." Rios finished the sentence. "Companies will be having fistfights over ya. They're always looking for guys that have exemplified leadership. And I think we all speak from first hand experience."

"Hooyah!" The sailors said in unison.

"Really means a lot fellas. I'm sure as hell gonna miss rolling with you guys in the mud."

"But didn't some famous guy say all good things must come to an end?" Moore asked. "You've paid you're dues sir. And besides, SEAL officers are always leaving the Navy after a solid five years. You've held on for two more. I say pat yourself on the back."

"You guys really think so?"

"Does it look like we're bullshitting you sir?" Brigham was serious. "You got one more mission ahead of you."

"Go out with a bang sir."

"Knock 'em dead."

"Thanks for the morbid support." Ackerson laughed.

"Any time sir, any time." Moore laughed. "Now if you excuse I'm going to try and find some nice young ladies to talk to."

"Think he'll get any?" Rios asked.

Brigham chuckled. "Not a chance in hell."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Leaving A Mark**

Silver was simply known as the "**new guy**", a fitting description for an apprentice warrior who had yet to see action. Only after his first deployment, which was less than less than two weeks away, would he be considered a journeyman within the SEAL culture. In the meantime, the young sailor was practicing his shooting. All SEALs were marksmen. But Silver was an expert marksman denoting him as a sniper, the best rifleman in the group. A couple of hours at the range would make sure it stayed that way.

Keeping the mind focused during shooting drills is essential to putting rounds on target, especially if that target is more than five hundred yards away. But a mastery of technique in skills such as controlled breathing, steady hands, and excellent timing greatly increases a shooter's chances of neutralizing any target they set their sites on. It's easier said than done, a primary reason why good shooters always try to get to the range as much as they can. Practice truly does equal perfection.

An hour of shooting was spent standing, the next was spent kneeling and now he was getting ready for an hour of shooting from the prone position. An ability to shoot from either position dictated how well one performed in combat. But a brief spell of bad memories was preventing him from firing accurately. If this was combat such distractions could get him killed, a haunting reminder that he should get his mind back on track and quickly.

Trying to shrug off the thoughts Silver took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. Just as the rifle shook he jerked the trigger sending the bullet wide right of his target. Cursing under his breath he tried waiting a little between breaths. On his next shot, no luck, the bullet clearly missed its mark. _Why today damn it, why today?_ Frustration was the exact emotion he was trying to avoid. Now he had to find a way to get rid of it, a task that was becoming more and more difficult.

"I'll bet you'll miss this next shot." A familiar voice said behind a pair of binoculars.

"Don't expect me to bet against you sir." Silver replied.

"Try it again." Ackerson said.

Lining his sites on the target, Silver waited for his breathing to get into a rhythm. When the butt of his rifle felt comfortably wedged into the soft skin between his shoulder and arm, he began to curl his index finger in front of the trigger. Seeing the crosshairs rise and fall predictably he waited to fire on exhale. Two seconds later, he fired, this time, hitting the paper but missing the black silhouette situated in the center of the target.

"Well, look at it this way Silver, it's better than hitting the sand."

"I guess so sir, I guess so." Silver managed through a sigh.

"Alright sailor, cease fire. What's on your mind?"

"A bad case of luck sir." Folding his rifle's bipod. "And some things I wanna forget."

"Women trouble?"

"Nope." Standing up. "Just some shit that happened a time long ago."

"Sit down." Ackerson told him. "Wanna get to the bottom of this right now. Can't have my sniper distracted before his first time out."

"Understood sir." Silver sat down on an ammunition crate.

"Well? Lets hear it."

"You've read my background?"

"Adopted right? Said you had some trouble with your original family."

"Did it get into any details? Just askin' 'cause I haven't seen it."

"Not really keen on the specifics, but as far as I can remember, all it said was you had some problems with your previous family and left home at sixteen."

"Oh." Silver paused. "Well, guess I should put all my cards on the table then. My original family was, um. Lets just say we started out okay and things got worse from there. I would say shit got kind of crazy when I was about five years old. My dad or, excuse me, asshole of a father, used to own an auto body. But somewhere along the line a big company, moved in across the street and eventually pushed him out of business. He turned to drinking, didn't bother finding another job and just stayed at home. But back to what I was saying, when I was five, I remember hearing my mother crying about something and my father was shouting. It was at night and being that young all that noise scared the shit outta me. Now ordinarily, most kids would have stayed put, but I was curious. So I went to the foot of the steps looked down and saw that son of a bitch hit my mother. I really didn't react at that point because what the hell is a kid supposed to do in a situation like that. You're confused as hell wondering if you should cry, yell, scream, try and do something. I didn't know what to do. After that, everything was a blur of pain and suffering. My father became more and more abusive and my mother bared the brunt of it. I couldn't escape it either, but Goddamn, if only he hadn't done the things he did to my mother. Sooner or later she just couldn't put up with my father abusing her. She soon stopped working and got addicted to prescription drugs just to escape the daily pain. I ended up being the man of the house, going to school, going to work, buying the groceries, managing the finances. You could say I grew up a little too fast. But everything changed when my mother killed herself. In fact, it was the night I ran away. I came home, after a bad day at school. Of course my father was passed out on the couch so I went to use the bathroom. Opened the door and there my mother was, sprawled out on the floor bleeding out of the wrist. By the time I got there her skin was comatose, she was gone. I should've called the police then, but I was angry more than anything. I know I…" Silver could feel the anger boiling. "Sorry sir, just don't feel like talking about this shit anymore."

"Take it easy sailor." Ackerson noticed the rage. "Go on whenever you're ready. I still feel like you need to hear yourself talk about it before you move on."

Keeping his emotions in check, Silver continued. "I was about to call the police but the first thing I thought of was attacking my father. At ran to the kitchen got a knife and seriously thought about killing the bastard. Fortunately nothing ever came of that. Don't know if it was God or luck, but whatever the hell it was, it damn well made sure I didn't end up in prison. So instead, I took him on like a man. I punched him smack in his face, he grumbled, got up and I hit him again, then I kicked him and just started pounding him enough to knock him out. Then I remember his body just lying on the ground, seeing him crying to himself and whimpering like a little boy. Watching him like that was crazy, seeing such a violent and seemingly powerful man turn so weak. I just stared at him for a moment and then I just left. I knew I hadn't killed him, but I just scattered before he got a chance to get sober which never happened apparently."

"So I can imagine the police were looking for you?"

"Oh yeah, they picked up me up as a bum sleeping in Central Park. Once they found out who I was, they started questioning me about the events surrounding my mother's death and the assault of my father. But thank God, the guys who were questioning believed every word I said. To make a long story short they ended up sending me to a foster home. Foster home changed everything."

"Then if things turned out for the better, why are you worrying about your past? I mean you ended up with a great family, did well in school, and shoot, made it to the place you're at now."

"I ask myself the same thing and I'm surprised I'm thinking about the bad things right now. You know sir, I really don't know."

"It was traumatic and I never had to put up with the kind of stuff you had to. But I hate to break it to you. You're gonna need to get this off your chest or forget about it. Because once we're in the field, I can't afford to have my sniper distracted. I need you focused and ready to rock, on the fly. Now I'm not going to let you feel sorry for yourself, why? Because I have never seen you feel sorry for yourself I think you never have, else you wouldn't have survived **BUD/S** and made it this far. You got the strength to forget about the pain and move on. Besides you survived and got out alive. May have happened a little late but better late than never." Ackerson explained.

"Guess your right and come to think of it my foster family was the best. Complete turnaround from what I was used to. I started off a little rough, but they straightened me out. My foster dad." Silver laughed. "Never thought I'd say that before then, but hey, there was lots of love and support in that house, things that I used to think never existed."

"In that case I shouldn't even have to talk to you then."

"No you shouldn't sir." Silver smiled sheepishly.

"Glad to see you've finally figured it out. Now can you honestly tell me you'll be ready to deploy, because we do in less than two weeks?"

"Yes sir." He confidently replied.

"Alright. I'm counting on you sailor. Get your mind right and rely on your training. When shit gets tough, whether it's bad memories or a crazy mission, draw from your **Hell Week** experience. Just the silent recognition that we busted our asses for five days in cold, wetness, and hunger should remind you that you can overcome any odds. And by judging from the story you just told me, you overcame the odds twice. Let's do it again. Hooyah?"

"Hooyah sir!"

"Good, now lets get back to some shooting. Besides, I need to fit in a couple of rounds. Mind if I join you?" Ackerson pulled out his M-4.

"As long as you keep you mouth shut." Silver grinned.

Ackerson grumbled. "Just hit the damn bulls eye."

"Aye aye sir."

* * *

An instructor once told them that their careers would consist more of training than actual combat. As a matter of fact a sailor was considered lucky if he managed to deploy at least five times during his tenure as a SEAL. For men who spent their whole lives training to fight, combat was a very big deal. Like athletes who trained with hopes of going to a championship, they trained with hopes of being deployed. 

Speaking of deployment, Rios and Asher were starting to feel rather anxious about theirs. The last time they felt this way was on the first day of **Indoc**, not knowing what to expect. Of course this would not have been their first deployment. But since no two missions were ever the same, there was always some degree of unknown associated with such undertakings. Most people always felt some degree of apprehension when it came to the unknown. Asher and Rios were no different. They just had the guts to saddle up for the ride, regardless of what lay ahead.

Desiring to be prepared for the mission, Rios and Asher embarked on yet another series of runs. Keeping the body in shape was just one of the many ways these elite warriors got themselves ready for the big moment. Running offered them the opportunity to get used to traveling long distances and carrying heavy loads. In order to simulate this, both men ran a total of twelve miles with rucksacks weighed down with seventy pounds of stones. It took them three hours to complete the run drenching their shirts with no less than a gallon of sweat. Before deciding to hit the showers, both sailors stopped to catch a breath and a healthy swig of water.

"Wonder if we'll be walking this much in Brazil?" Asher asked still panting.

"Yeah." Rios took a gulp of water. "We will, else we wouldn't have just strapped all those rocks to our backs."

"And hiked twelve miles with 'em." Asher finished the statement.

"So how long it take us?" Rios asked.

"About two hours and fifty six minutes."

"Three hours, if you round off." Rios smiled.

"Whatever, I like to be precise." Asher kidded.

"Precise my ass." Rios muttered. "So you just about ready?"

"To deploy?" Asher asked. "Been waiting three years since my last one. I say yeah. What about you?"

"Yup. Just wanna finish up the weaning moments of our pre-deployment work up, do the deed and get out." Rios replied through a stretch.

"Not going to argue with you there." Asher took a seat. "You think we're actually doing the right thing this time?"

"You know I like to steer clear of discussions like this. They pay us to follow orders. But aw hell, its just the two of us, might as well speak my mind."

"Isn't like you'll be arrested for it. Go ahead speak your two cents."

"For starters I think it is. A country has been to hell and back and now some invader comes in and takes away hope. Can't find any reason against why sending us in is such a bad idea. What's your take?"

"It's better than fighting against another country, another guy fighting for what he believes in. I mean this time we got an actual bad guy, essentially paid mercenaries holding a shattered nation hostage. In the past we had to fight national armies and if not that, people with a cause."

"Have a pretty long list there. From Germany to Iraq."

"And looking back, you kinda wonder. Were we really fighting against evil people or ordinary human beings? Of course people like Saddam Hussein, Bin Laden, and Hitler can rot in hell for all I care. But I'm not really talking about them. I'm talking about the guys fighting on the battlefield. Look at World War Two. Do you really believe and think that every single German soldier, sitting in his foxhole, gave a damn about Hitler's final solution or any of that bullshit. Hell no. On the battlefield I look at it like this. We're all the same. We both have bullets zooming past our heads and we fight for the guys next to us. Politics and religion doesn't mean a damn thing when you're trying to survive a firefight."

"Especially when you're the guy who goes down. Patriotism and pride for your nation are good and all that. But whenever you're bleeding your guts out, you don't have some heroic song playing in your head. You're thinking, 'oh shit, what about my family, am I gonna die'. I've seen it before, that fear of dying, unsure of whether or not there's anything waiting for us on the other side. Its funny that we don't dwell on death until it's knocking on our doorstep."

"Couldn't have said it better myself. I don't care what anyone says, fostering democracy or freedom through warfare has never made sense and never will. It's so easy for someone, who is so far removed from conflict to say that sacrificing lives for the greater good is necessary. C'mon, when was the last time we fought a war in defense of our country. The war on terror, maybe, but aside from that, after the Second World War, when has any nation ever threatened our existence."

"I see where you're going with this. You look at world war two and we were attacked by another country. An actual order was given to hit us at Pearl Harbor and after that... Well, we all remember what happened afterwards. We beat the hell out of Hitler's army and nuke Hiroshima and ended up expanding foreign policy to those countries and beyond."

"Korea was next, the great war against communism. Now let me ask you something, what the hell could North Korea have done, at that time, that would have threatened the good ole U S of A? Nothing. I know I'll piss a lot of people off by saying this, but why did we risk so many brave American soldiers and even our own UDT ancestors to fight a war that only ended up in a stalemate? Was it necessary to fight the Forgotten War and have so many young men give up their youth. The only reason we fought in Korea was to project our influence in East Asia. We accomplished half of our mission, no pun intended. South Korea wasn't run over, but more than ten thousand men had to suffer because some greedy politician thought it was a good idea to stem the spread of communism. A bunch of bullshit if you ask me, a bunch of bullshit that tens of thousands of young men had to pay for."

"Sounds like crusading to me. First it was war against fascism, then communism, the war on terrorism, and now a war against private militarism. Sooner or later wars become nothing more than words in history books. Times change and so do people. Today's enemies will be tomorrow's friends. If you look at it that way, the term bad guys is only relative. I mean a thousand years from now, you think some kid in sixth grade history class is gonna give a damn about our heroic exploits? I mean, did you ever give a damn about how a hundred Spartan **hoplites** fended off **ten thousand immortals** at **the battle of** **Thermopylae**. Sure it's admirable from an objective standpoint, but I never knew those guys. Why should I care? We'll fade away, just like those guys did. All we're here for is to fight for the guys next to us and do our jobs. This ain't about notoriety."

"It's not, but try telling politicians that? They treated warfare like some kind of international pissing contest. Using warriors as instruments of foreign policy, tools to protect interests. That was their way of showing everyone how big their dicks were. Guys who probably never even held a gun in their lives, acting like they're the toughest son of a bitch to ever walk the earth. Call me biased, but that's exactly what this country's involvement in the Middle East was all about. Soldiers were sent in harms way, soldiers died, and a shitload more innocent civilians died in the three decades we had our feet in the sand. Growing up as a kid and hearing about this war on terror angered the hell out of me. But you should have seen my parents. They were angrier. Every news station you turned to, you heard something about Arabs doing this and Muslims doing that. That was a point when you saw the true racism of this country. They acted like terrorists were all Arabs, and the public chomped at the bait. Racism fueling a war against Arab nations. We hardly fought our so-called war on terror then. A lot of fellow warriors died out there all because some politicians wanted their oil. Those bastards."

"Good thing we're fighting a company then. I won't have any qualms about taking these lives. No telling what they're doing to those people there. I feel like this fight is worth fighting, isn't like we're trying to impose our political structure on another nation, we're just trying to save 'em. And for the first time in a while, we'll actually be using a multinational force. Makes things seem a little more fair this time around doesn't it."

"But we're just custodians, like wiping shit off the floor. The world got itself into this mess. Should've never trusted that damn company. And I'd venture to say that someone saw this coming. But what is getting angry gonna do for me?"

"Raise your blood pressure eventually causing you to die of a stress related disease. Believe me, I know this stuff, I'm a doctor, in case you forgot." Rios joked.

"Whatever. Until you have a medical firm of your own I'll believe you."

"Let's see if you say that when you're laying flat on your back from a gunshot wound and I have to be the one to save your ass." Rios countered.

"Sure, but for now I'm headed to the shower and from what my nose is telling me you're gonna need one too." Asher joked.

"Gonna wash my back?"

"You wish." Asher chuckled.

* * *

On average their day usually ended at about one in morning. Waking up five hours later their day began with a light PT session followed by breakfast. Once breakfast was finished some of the sailors headed over to the range to perfect their marksmanship while others spent a little time studying their role in an upcoming exercise. A more rigorous PT session was done again, preceding a briefing in preparation for a full training exercise. Afterwards, the team attended a debriefing to learn how they could do things better on the next exercise. By the middle of the afternoon lunch was served. The next series of events were more time on the range and the last but most rigorous PT session of the day. When the physical exertion came to an end, everyone graciously headed to the mess hall for a nice warm dinner. With the day finally coming to a close, weapons and equipment were currently being cleaned in preparation for tomorrow's activities. But for these sailors, the day was not yet complete without a set of warning orders they were due to attend after their equipment was squared away. It was a busy routine, but someone had to follow it. 

"Y'know, something kinda told me we should've done this earlier." Moore said, cleaning his M-4.

"You mean clean our weapons, like everyone else did, instead of stuffing our faces?" Oliveira asked, checking some ammunition magazines. "Nope, sorry, I sacrificed lunch to read up on our little exercise. That PT tore my stomach in half."

"Yeah, me too." Brigham announced. "But I had to skip lunch anyways. Senior Chief Moggs wanted me in on planning this one. Since I hope to take his job someday, I gotta know the rules and all that good stuff."

"Looks like you banking on a promotion after this op ain't ya?" Moore noted.

"I certainly hope so. Haven't worked towards the rank of **SCPO** for nothing. Navy's been a career fellas, it's been a career and I plan on getting the most out of it."

"God help us. A **SCPO** with the likes of you? Damn we're in trouble." Oliveira joked.

"Yeah Chief, ain't you got a woman at home or something? I mean I admire your climb up the chain of command, but I know you gotta miss the se…"

"Hey!" Oliveira cut him off. "Will you stop gettin' into the Chief's sex life? I don't wanna hear that."

"Well I do." Moore grinned.

"Jesus, you're sick."

"I'm inclined to agree with you on that Oliveira. Moore isn't exactly wired right?"

"On his side too?" Moore mocked disbelief. "Last time I hang out with you guys. But really Chief. Why so short on women?"

"I had to make a choice one day. Do I continue to put more time into being a SEAL or do I concentrate on trying to get my marriage to work. Now you fellas can probably figure out what route I chose." Brigham explained.

"Kinda harsh Chief."

"I know, got two divorces to prove it." Brigham replied.

"Guess our instructors really weren't bullshitting us when they said the SEALs have a ninety percent divorce rate." Moore said.

"Not at all good sirs, not at all." Brigham smiled. "I used to be just like that until I found out the hard way. My first wife wasn't too keen on doing such a dangerous job. I didn't want to quit, she wanted me to. Basically, to make a long story short, we got divorced. I just could not give up something I just started, something that I busted my ass trying to get into. Lets face it, I love my job."

"What about your second wife?" Oliveira asked.

"She was a paranoid thing. She didn't take me seriously when I told her I would be gone about eleven months out of the year. Even though I told her time and time again, she swore to God that I was cheating on her with promiscuous women. My first wife, we still talk, but that second chick. She was crazy and too demanding. So after that, I've decided to devote most of my time to the SEALs."

"Look at it this way, at least you can get some ass anytime you need it." Moore joked.

Oliveira shot Moore a look. "You could have just said date. I swear, something's not right with you."

"I still mingle a little bit, but I don't commit. And no Moore, I am not going around having sex with just _any_ woman I see." Brigham smiled. "But hey, if you guys plan on getting married, do not, and I'm speaking from experience here, do not plan on it lasting as long as you got this job. From what I've been through, I don't blame el-tee one bit for getting a discharge at the end of this year. He obviously, really loves his girl and I wish all the best for him. Wish I had the had the maturity he did."

"Well hey Chief, you had a decision to make. You chose this, you shouldn't hate yourself for it." Moore pointed out.

"I know that, I just wish I didn't take those women along for the ride. It was unfair that I let them go through that. To be honest I should have thought things through first. Take notes fellas, because this is as candid as it gets."

"Don't worry about Moore, Chief. At the rate he's going, no woman in their right mind would marry him."

"C'mon Oliveira, you know I'm just bullshitting. I grew in a family full of women. Never in my life have I disrespected a women." Moore replied.

"So what's with the comments then?" Oliveira questioned.

"An attempt to piss you off and quite frankly, it's working." Moore grinned.

"Whatever." Oliveira rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so hard on the guy Emilio. I think Moore's telling the truth this time." Brigham said. "Keep talking sailor, I wanna hear the rest."

"At least someone believes me, unlike some other guy, whose name I choose not to mention." Moore chided.

"Christ." Oliveira murmured to himself.

"Now, as I was saying, I have always respected women. When my father was killed, my mother worked her hardest to take care of me and my three older sisters. There were plenty of moments in which she struggled to make ends meet, but she always came through. Hands down, my mother is one of the strongest people I have ever met. Any woman who lost her husband and takes care of four children single handedly has my vote. And to think of all the sexism women have to put up with from us here guys, has to be a pain in the ass. Growing up surrounded by women, I'm inclined to believe they got it harder than us. Someone may disagree with me on that. But hey, that's just my opinion."

"How'd everyone take it when you joined the Navy." Oliveira asked.

"Interesting you ask me that." Moore laughed nervously. "But no use sugarcoating the truth. My ma was happy and yet concerned that her only son was following in his father's footsteps. Now, considering what happened to my dad, I don't blame my mother for being worried. My sisters felt much the same way. After all, I was their baby brother. Let me mind you this was before I became a SEAL."

"Yeah, because a reaction like that is kinda tame compared to what I was thinking." Brigham pointed out.

"You got it right on the money Chief. I mean things started out okay. My mother and my sisters were all happy for me when I graduated from BUD/S. Things were fine for a couple of weeks after graduation. But one day, one of my sisters, God bless her." Moore chuckled. "She apparently did some reading on what exactly being a SEAL was all about. I got a call and the first thing I hear is, 'have you lost your God damned mind'. So for an hour or whatever, we're having an argument. She tells me I can die, I say I won't, she says I'm crazy, I reply saying this is something I really wanna do. Basically, that's all we talked about. But you guys pretty much get the idea."

"I'm taking everyone else reacted positively." Oliveira kidded.

"I wish." Moore laughed. "My sisters gave me hell. But when my mother finally realized what I was going to be doing, she was remarkably calm."

"Now, by saying that, do you mean, 'I'm calm, do whatever the hell you want' or 'I'm calm, I respect your decision, and I'm behind you a hundred percent?" Brigham asked.

"Surprisingly, the latter. I think that after everything my mom went through she eventually reconciled with my father's death. You see, my mother wasn't one of those women that sat around feeling sorry for herself. Of course she went through a period of grief, but who doesn't grieve after a loved one dies? She was always so resilient, a character trait I look for in any woman, and it was that resilience that helped her through the good times and the bad. That's probably why my mother accepted my decision to become a SEAL. She told me that she had done her job in life successfully raising four children. Now that we were grown, she believed it would be unfair, on her part, to prevent us from doing what we wanted to do. For that, I am extremely grateful to have that woman as my mother."

"Well damn Moore. Thanks for sobering the mood." Oliveira joked.

"Hey fellas, just giving you my two cents on things. That's all."

"I tell you what though, makes me wanna respect women a whole hell'uva lot more." Brigham added.

"So since we're stuck on this running theme of family, lets hear about yours, Oliveira."

"Where do I begin?" Oliveira took time to think about what he wanted to say. "You guys already know I spent a great deal of my life in Brazil. Fifteen years to be exact. But we had to leave because of the growing poverty problem." Oliveira sighed. "But I guess I can talk about what it was like when I came to the United States. Being an immigrant family, it was difficult enough living in this country. My parents spoke absolutely no English and neither did I. But I ended up taking an ESL class and did extremely well. In my opinion, English is still so much easier to speak."

"So how'd you manage the ESL class and high school at the same time?" Moore asked.

"Well I didn't go to high school while I was taking that class. I wanted to devote all my time to speaking English, so I could help my family and help myself. So yes, I finished high school later than everyone else. But once I got English out of the way, I felt just like everyone else."

"Your parents eventually learn English?" Brigham asked.

"I kinda wished they would have, but they haven't. In part, I think that's because they came to the country and hit the ground running. They had to get jobs almost immediately and just did not have the time to learn English. So even though they never learned English they at least gave me the chance to learn how to speak English."

"Have some great folks it sounds like." Brigham noticed.

"Oh yeah, I love my family, Chief. And in thanking them for allowing me to learn English I ended up helping them with daily tasks that required English. I had to make sure our landlord did not take advantage of us, go to the grocery store, and translate for my parents at the open houses at school. I had a lot of responsibility, in terms of looking out for my family. High school and working was a different story all together. But I managed."

"What about your extended family?" Moore asked.

"A lot of them we never heard from again. For a good couple of years we stayed in contact with them. But when things spiraled out of control we knew that they did not survive. Shows you how bad war can get. I guess me and my parents were just plain lucky to leave in time. If only the rest of my family was though."

"Yeah I remember you saying at the bar the other day, that this mission was personal." Moore recalled.

"It is. I mean Brazil is still my home. I have lived there longer than I have lived here. And quite possibly, I may still have family members there fighting against that PMC. I have allegiance to Brazil and I just can't let people run over my home like that."

"A patriot huh?"

"More biased towards Brazil. I love living here. But if Brazil wasn't in ruins, I'd go back in a heartbeat." Oliveira said proudly.

"Well that's understandable. I haven't seen anyone go crazy after a soccer match like you did." Moore joked.

"Hey, Spain cheated in that game and the refs were getting paid off. It was the World Cup you know." Oliveira smiled.

"Well, this operation may not fix the World Cup, Emilio." Brigham laughed. "But at least you'll be able to make sure Brazil is a free country again."

"Glad to have you guys supporting me on this."

"It's everyone's responsibility man." Moore said. "But are we done here, because we got those warning orders in a few minutes."

"Yeah we should get a move on. Besides I'm anxious for some sleep.

Oliveira yawned. "Yeah, you're not the only one."

"Me too."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Making the Rounds**

After eight hours of constant training, a trip to the mess hall was in high demand. Even the elite, were not immune to the effects of empty stomachs. But two servings of cube steaks, green beans, and mashed potatoes quickly replenished their calorie deficits.

With a few minutes left to spare, the sailors took time to relax and talk amongst themselves. A few minutes may not have been a long time. But considering the fact their day would not be coming to an end for another twelve hours, any chance to relax was a welcome change of pace.

"You know, after thirteen years in the Navy, I still haven't figured out why the last few weeks of predeployment workup are the toughest." Brigham wondered aloud.

"Assurance." Ackerson replied.

"That's the best answer you can come up with?"

"Well damn Chief, what else would you want me to say?" Ackerson asked irritably. "Repeat the mission statement of our training cadres?"

Brigham chuckled. "Relax Carl, it was just a simple question."

"Yeah, a simple question that you knew was gonna make me just a wee bit irritated." Shaking his head.

"And after putting up with my antics for about five years, I thought you would've learned to ignore 'em by now." Brigham replied. "Besides, you should be happy you had me around this long. Isn't everyday you get a chief who stays with his team more than five years."

"Guess I should consider myself lucky huh?"

"Damn straight, because Chief Brigham here is a god among men, a sage with a wealth of knowledge."

"Feeling your oats as usual." Ackerson quipped.

"Is that any way to talk to a chief? I'm appalled."

"You're right. That is not a way to talk to a chief and I'm sorry you're appalled. But I can make an exception in your case."

"Ouch. Lay off the sting will ya."  
"Don't take it personal Chief." Ackerson smiled. "After all, I would've expected _you_ to ignore my antics after dealing with 'em for five years."

"There you go turning the tables again."

"Just doing my job."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Brigham retorted. "So what you gonna do when you're done with all this?"

"The workup or operation?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Brigham looked Ackerson in the eyes.

"Oh. That."

"Very enthusiastic I must say."

"Sorry, just isn't something I really haven't thought about a whole hell'uva lot."

"C'mon man, you gotta have a game plan at least."

"I do. I mean my fiancé and I have planned on getting married right after I get discharged. But besides that, nothing but a bunch of question marks in my future."

"Probably just something you gotta get off your chest. Talk to me buddy."

"I spent a solid seven years in the SEALs, training, forming friendships, leading, fighting and now the prospect of leaving this organization has hit me like a ton of bricks. Simply put I love my job and its gonna suck to just up and leave one day."

"Well I'm not going to bullshit you here. It really does suck to leave this job, especially when you've put your heart in to it. But sometimes we've got to make decisions we don't want to, just like we do in the field. You should know that better than anyone."

"I know Chief and I do believe its time for a change. Guess I didn't anticipate my decision being this difficult."

"Having to choose between settling down and being in the teams?"

"Hit the nail right on the head."

"Okay. Now let me ask you something. You really love this woman?"

"Hell yeah. We've practically been dating for three years."

"And have you discussed leaving the teams with her?"

"Yes and no. I've told her that I'm willing to leave to make our relationship real but at the same time I haven't really told her how I feel about it."

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but maybe you should. This is a big step and I'm no marriage counselor here, but don't you think it would be fair to the both of you to tell her how you feel?"

"I agree wholeheartedly. But I don't want to be the one to complicate things in the relationship."

"Let me tell you something Carl. Any relationship's gonna have complications of some sort. Believe me, I have two divorces to prove it. I can give you horror stories of how stress can tear people apart. Only advice I can give you, to not have the same experiences I've had, is to be honest as hell with the one you love, even if it's bound to make the two of you upset. Better to discuss it when there's no problems than when there are."

"You know I trust your advice more than anyone Bill especially when you relate it to your life. Really appreciate it."

"Shit Carl, don' t make me get all misty here." Brigham laughed. "But hey, just doing my job. Sound familiar?"

"Sure does. Should probably start thinking who my best men are going to be."  
"I think I got a pretty good idea, but I don't wanna get my hopes up just yet. I mean Lieutenant Ackerson is kind of a fickle guy."

Brigham and Ackerson continued to discuss life after the teams while Asher and Kaufman spoke about the mantra, there's more than meets the eye.

"So let me get this straight, you were the projected first round draft pick in the NFL and one day you just announce to the world that you're joining the Navy? How much money did you throw away again?" Asher asked.

"About nine millions dollars, plus a two million signing bonus." Kaufman grinned.

"Bigger man than I am, because if I was you I would've jumped right at the opportunity. I mean, you were the most feared linebacker in all of college football. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"I've always seen myself as the kind of guy who loves to make a statement. You were right about me being the most feared linebacker in all of college football. Not that I'm bragging our anything." Kaufman smiled. "But anytime someone got injured on the field I would be the first one out there just to make sure the other guy was okay. I loved football but I also wanted others to enjoy the game as well. If that's not a powerful statement than I don't know what is."

"Then I guess joining the Navy was making a statement as well?" Asher assumed.

"You could say that. I figure it was my way of showing people that more important things are going on in this world other than football. Even though I've idolized some of the game's greatest heroes, I've always believed it was those in uniform that were the epitome of heroes. And one of those men was my teammate. Matter of fact he was the back up kicker. We seemed like the most unlikely of friends, a big hulking linebacker and a second string kicker. We worked out together, partied together, and were roommates as well." Continuing. "Really nice guy. Got to know his folks and I always admired him for the strength and perseverance he showed as an athlete. He may not have been the best, but he sure as hell didn't let that stop him. But what really stood out to me was the fact that he enlisted in the Army and at that time joining the military was the last thing I wanted to do. But I remember him telling me that football was great but he wanted to do greater, make himself a bigger man. Now I'm telling this guy, dude, you're one of the toughest guys I know, believe me your more of a man than a lot of folks. But the stubborn bastard bought none of it. He thanked me for the kind words, but he said joining the Army was a conscious decision on his part, a decision that he had been contemplating for a very long time. So being his good friend I respected his decision and wished him luck."

"But one day that changed my life happened a few years ago. I received a call from his mother, who told me he was killed in action, in some far away place that the Army could not disclose. I was shocked, couldn't believe it. My best bud came back here in a flag draped coffin. And you think this big guy doesn't cry? I could barely hold it together at his funeral. Shit, you woulda thought I made a damn fool outta myself. But that was my biggest inspiration a definite hero in my book. The only way I could pay him back for the impact he had on my life was to do what he did, make a big decision to do something heroic. Football, the Butkiss Award, a stint in the NFL, none of that stuff mattered to me anymore. I wanted something greater and I wanted to make a better man out of myself. So guess what, I enlist in the Navy and find my way into the SEALs."

"Jeeze." Asher was amazed. "That's probably the most inspiring story I've heard in a while. I'm serious."

"It was, I mean look what it made me do. And it was my memories of the guy's courage and strength that got me through BUD/S. I mean if it weren't for him I would've washed out like the hundreds of other guys. But I pulled through, because I made a promise to myself and a promise to my biggest hero to make it through. And I am more than convinced that it was his spirit nudging me towards reaching my goal. I never slacked off at anything I did, because I believed I would be disrespecting the life he lived. So I worked hard in BUD/S, SQT, ULT, and the specialized demolitions schools that enabled me to be an **EOD** qualified SEAL."

"Well anyone that can disarm bombs and not shit himself gets a medal in my book." Asher joked. "But sounds like your friend helped you out a lot."

"He did, but let me remind you that that everything I told you was easier said than done."

"I believe it, especially being an Arab American in the Navy. And just like you said easier said than done."

"I figure your life wasn't exactly a cake walk?" Kaufman guessed.

"A cake walk it was not, especially growing up in Detroit, which has once again claimed the title as America's most dangerous city."

"I'm a big country boy, couldn't really imagine what it was like."

"And you don't wanna imagine what it was like. I grew up in a rough part of Detroit, run down buildings, crack addicts, gunshots, you name it. We had it all. The only thing that kept my folks and I sane, at least from my point of view, was the fact we were devout Muslims."

"In hearing you say that, how'd your parents take to the idea of you joining the Navy?"

Asher laughed nervously. "Yeah, about that. Being devout Muslims my parents did not necessarily harbor the best of feelings towards this country's government, much less the military. And to be honest I was much the same way too."

"What made you switch up then?"

"Well I wouldn't necessarily say switched up per say. I personally still think this country's government has fought wars for reasons other than democracy and liberty. But I wanted to join the Navy to prove something to myself and to others."

"Your parents?"

"No, not at all. My parents still think I'm a nut for joining the military, but they still wished the best for me. But I was a little guy in Detroit and being so I was usually the guy that got picked on a whole lot. So some way or another I hear about the Navy SEALs and for the longest time I wondered what it would be like to be one of those guys."

"But considering how you felt about this country's government…"

"I didn't become a SEAL because of patriotism. I joined rather because I wanted to be with the best and fight with the best. Kind of a way of reconciling with my past if you know what I mean."

"Well I bet anyone who ever gave you a hard time back in Detroit would be jealous as hell to see where you are right now."

"Definitely." Asher said proudly. "It's the sweetest form of revenge if you ask me. And I didn't even have to do anything."

"Still though." Kaufman wondered. "How'd you manage to reconcile with being a devout Muslim in an organization that has a long standing history in the Middle East?"

"I had to wrestle with that issue for quite some time. This country's government may have a bad rep among the Muslim and Arab-American population as well as Arab and Muslim communities around the world. But I saw this group of warriors being professionals who follow orders and have a high emphasis on accountability and teamwork. We don't kill innocent civilians blatantly and we only go after the guys who got it coming for 'em. In other words we only go after other guys with guns. In exchange for not killing innocent people, I say that's a fair trade."

"But not everyone else is going to look at us that way, you know that. I mean anytime some person in a foreign country sees guys with an American flag patched to their shoulder holding a rifle, especially in the Middle East, won't necessarily be happy to see us."

"This is true and I agree with you a hundred percent. But this is moreover a mission for me, a personal jihad if you will, to find myself. Now, someone could ask me, how in the hell are you trying to find yourself knowing damn well you kill people for a living? I'd just tell 'em that it's not about the killing. Rather it's being a part of something that is bigger than the individual, it's about the team. Hell, it's more than that. Every guy on this team, I can say with confidence is one of my brothers. It's a brotherhood and working with the best, you guys, is a privilege."

"Damn." Kaufman mused. "Reminds me of a pep talk my college coach gave us right before a bowl game. After hearing you speak, I feel proud to be in this group."

"I'd say team. Glad to be part of this team. But hey, like I said earlier, this a brotherhood. And being part of such a closely knit fraternity is a privilege."

"Couldn't have said it better myself. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

As Asher and Kaufman's conversation trailed elsewhere, Oliveira was busy probing the "new guy" for any hint of apprehension relative to the impending deployment.

"So you ready to pop this cherry?" Oliveira asked.

"Does everything always have to with sex?" Silver replied.

"Nope." Oliveira admitted. "But after being in the teams for a while, you start to realize that sexual aphorisms are a fact of life around here."

Silver laughed with a hint of disbelief. "Okay, I believe you. But you could have spared me the vivid metaphor, don't ya think?"

"Maybe I could have. But I don't think you would've understood the question too well." Oliveira grinned.

"Oh, I understood what you said. Only at the expense of grossing me out." Silver complained.

"Like you haven't watched a porn flick." Oliveira smirked. "But back to the question at hand. You ready for this?"

"As long as I don't have to deal with anymore of your sexual aphorisms, then yes, I'm good to go."

"I would've believed that. Except your voice gave you away. What's up?"

"My first time out man. Why wouldn't I be nervous?"

"Great, now we're getting somewhere." Oliveira teased. "But hey, don't look at nervousness as a shortcoming. Matter of fact, I would be quite concerned if you weren't nervous. Every guy who enters this organization is scared shitless before his first mission. Regardless though, we find the strength to saddle up for the ride anyway."

"But how do you get over the fear?"

"You don't and I know that sounds crazy but hear me out on this one. Fear means you respect something, which in this case would be combat. Since we respect and understand the dangers of combat, our fear, instead, becomes caution and circumspection. Basically, we harness our fear and turn it into something positive. Our fears by making us cautious and circumspect, allows us to do our jobs professionally. In being professional, we plan and train, train, train just to make sure we're ready to rock when the real thing starts. So my advice? Don't spend these last days of workup worrying. Just stick to your training regimen and always look to your teammates for guidance."

"Well, hearing that from you makes me feel a whole lot better towards the fear thing. But the responsibility and the scope of this mission is so big I feel like the weight of the world is resting just on me."

"You remember hearing the words, the only easy day was yesterday? As you're probably beginning to realize, your instructors weren't just saying that because they liked the sound of their voices. This job is only going to get tougher, no matter how you look at it. Fortunately, we are constantly evolving to tackle the increasing difficulties of combat. Hence, why we train."

"I understand that. It's just that I'm the team sniper and the new guy. Most snipers in this business, even before they go to sniper school, have a few deployments under their belts. I have none. The responsibilities of being in such a position are immense and to be honest they've hit me like a pile of bricks. I haven't had the luxury of combat experience yet. I know the team is counting on me to get the right information and make the right shot. Knowing this, I'm just hoping I don't botch things up when I get to the field."

"Hey, listen. No matter what your job on the team, whether it be the SAW gunner, radioman, team lead, sniper, or rifleman, all these responsibilities are equivalent in weight. There is certainly pressure to perform well, simply due to the fact that in this business it pays to be a winner. But you must also remember that the teams are not made up of individuals. We all have something to offer, not for the sake of showing everyone how good we are, but for the sake of the team. The team is the most important element here, not the single individual. Our responsibilities may be hard as hell, but we rely on each other out there. No man on this team is alone in the realm of responsibility. We all share the responsibility of getting the job done and getting home in one piece. Remember that."

Silver paused to regard Oliveira's words. "Makes sense to me and clears a lot of things I've been worrying about."

"Glad to hear it." Oliveira replied. "Now, are you gonna finish that? Because I'm hungry."

Oliveira took time enjoying the last remnants of steak. At the other end of the table, Rios and Moore were joking about experiencing hypothermia.

"There's two things that suck about hypothermia. One, you're cold outta or mind, and two, your nuts shrivel up like they just rolled over and died." Moore recalled.

"Shoot, try the whole area. Only thing I remember about hypothermia was that my equipment was aching all the time."

"Looks like someone had a new case of blue balls."

Rios nearly spit out his water. "Jesus Cristo!"

Moore laughed heartily as Rios coughed himself back to normal. "Sorry." Moore apologized. "Didn't think it was that funny."

"So funny it nearly killed me." Rios said between coughs.

"Well, I'm sure the good doctor would have found a way to revive himself." Moore kidded.

"Just for that, I hope you get shot in the ass."

"You'll just have to save me then."

"Who said anything about saving you? Far as I'm concerned you're on your own." Rios grinned darkly.

"Cold blooded." Moore sang.

"Don't try and kill me next time."

"It was an accident."

"You mean friendly fire?"

Moore giggled at the sarcasm. "Don't get mean."

"Sure thing Willy." Rios sassed.

Moore stood up and put Rios in a playful chokehold.

"I'm turnin' blue." Rios faked.

"Say uncle!" Moore almost yelled.

"Never!"

Rios wrestled his head free of Moore's grasp, while a few soldiers cheered the two of them on.

"Okay, okay, I give." Rios managed behind a red face."Aw c'mon." Moore panted. " I expected a better fight than that." Moore groaned.

"Oh you'll get one eventually." Rios promised. "You gotta fall asleep sometime."

"And if I wake up dead…"

Rios laughed. "If you wake up dead, I'm gonna have more than an ass whuppin' to worry about."

"Yeah, that didn't make a whole lotta sense did it?"

"Naw." Rios chuckled. "Not at all."

"That's what I thought." Moore admitted. "So how about it? You ready to get this show on the road?"

"Sure am. Just ready to get this job done and put all this training into action."

"The dogs of war are getting a little restless I must say."

"That they are." Rios agreed. "Just hope I don't have to put a certain skill set to use if you know what I mean."

"You mean choking the chicken, because you are quite good at that." Moore cracked.

"No dumbass." Rios laughed. "Having to save someone's life. You remember Colombia don't you?"

The humor quickly faded. "Yeah. Don't want to though, but memories are still there unfortunately. But you did all you could for the guy. Hell, we all did."

Rios stared blankly across the room. "Just felt like I could've saved the guy if I had gotten there quicker."

"There was nothing you could have done differently. We got stuck in one shit fest of firefight. You were pinned down if I remember correctly. No way you could have gotten to Jacobs in time, unless of course you wanted a bullet to whack you in the skull."

"But I feel sometimes I was too busy covering _my_ ass."

"No, you were watching your sector, following protocol. We made contact with the enemy and training took over."

"I'm a combat corpsman. It my job to fight _and_ to save lives."

"And by following your immediate instinct, you probably saved us all. I remember you nailed that bastard with the RPG. If you didn't pick him off, a lot less of us would be sitting here at this table. Real shitty that Jacobs didn't make it. But to be honest he was practically holding his insides right after he tripped that explosive. You even told us he was just about gone when you finally got to him. I mean, even if you did manage to get out of being pinned down and had gotten to Jacobs sooner, you would've neglected your sector, allowing some of the bad guys to slip through the cracks. It just so happens we were in one of those fights, the kind our instructors always used to warn us about. We will lose friends in this line of work and I hate to say it, but sometimes there isn't a damn thing we can do about it."

"You're right." Rios resolved, throwing his arms up. "Some things are just beyond our control. I just followed the rules, neutralized the threats and protected the team. Harsh as it may seem, saving Jacobs just had to wait. The threats were priority and they had to be taken care of or all of us would've been goners. Just need to remind myself that it's a team effort out there. I love this job, but sometimes it just plain sucks."

"That it does and you made a very difficult decision, one, that in all honesty, I don't think I could have ever made. And just so you know, we all accept the risks of this job. Our next step, out on the battlefield, is not promised to us. There are times when things don't go as planned and we react based on training. We all understand that if one of us goes down, but the firefight is too heavy, we unfortunately have to hang on the best we can, while our teammates try and counter the enemy. Jacobs knew this, you did, and everyone else did too. This is the kind of life we live."

"This is true and I shouldn't really dwell on the past. It could get in the way of an opportunity when saving someone's life is a definite reality."

"Exactly. You're still the best damn corpsman I know." Moore complimented. "Would talk some more, but looks like Boss Hog's callin'."

"Oink, oink." Rios joked.

"Like I said. Cold blooded."

"Only way to go amigo."

* * *

Ackerson may have been a stickler for training. But he was also no fool to the risks involved either. Training for combat was a two-sided coin. Train the troops too hard and they might hurt something. Train the troops too little and they won't learn anything. Establishing equilibrium between the two extremes is a very tricky process. But through trial and error, trainers and trainees eventually find their niche, so when the real thing starts everyone is ready to go. 

As the rest of the team caught up on some sleep Ackerson, Brigham, and Moggs were in a briefing room, sketching out plans for the final round of training. Working the graveyard shift was certainly a pain in the ass, but a necessary one nonetheless. Preparedness was essential to a successful mission, and if that meant burning a few hours of midnight oil, then these sailors were all for it.

"Next thing on the menu." Moggs announced. "Skill sets. What needs to be worked on gentlemen?"

"My guys are shooting, at worst, marksman." Ackerson grinned. "And yes Senior Chief, that includes me and Brigham."

"Well, at least you boys aren't shooting with blindfolds on, so I take your word for it." Moggs joked.

"Aw hell, I shoot better with a blindfold on." Brigham bragged.

"Wanna put money on that?" Ackerson asked looking over his notes. "'Cause last time I checked, you don't own the range record."

"Jesus." Brigham grumbled. "By one lousy shot. I wouldn't have missed if you hadn't coughed."

"Hey Chief, don't be a sore loser. Even though it does pay to be a winner." Ackerson winked.

"Do you have any qualms?"

"Not when it comes to kicking your ass. Besides, didn't I read somewhere that the enlisted are the experts of the teams?"

"Senior Chief, you gonna let him take pot shots at me like this?"

"Ordinarily I wouldn't. But let's face it Bill, you lost. After all, it pays to be a winner."

"Goodness. Is this pick on the Chief day?"

"That's everyday Bill." Ackerson quipped.

"Can I kick his ass now? I mean really?"

"Give it a rest Chief, you two can settle this testosterone fest on the range, later this week. But let's get back on track. What else?"

"Wanna perfect our room clearing times." Ackerson pointed out.

"Yeah, same here." Brigham added. "Even though twenty seconds more may be a very small number, it's a big ass number when you gotta clear out a building full of bad guys."

"Noted." Moggs wrote something down. "Anything else?"

"Think we need to put more emphasis on our **IADs**, since we won't have the luxury of **CAS** or additional troop support." Ackerson said.

"Definitely that." Brigham nodded. "Wanna be able to survive out there."

"Preaching to the choir on that one." Moggs admitted. "But we'll get back to those points in a few. For now we got that meeting with your better half."

"Oh, those guys? **SDV** training in Panama City right?" Brigham asked.

"Yup, we'll be inserting as a full platoon." Moggs got up to turn on the videoconference projector. "But once we got boots on the ground, we're split."

A few seconds of static and two men in jungle cammies appeared on the screen.

"Meretti, Tangelin, good to see ya." Moggs began.

"You too, Senior Chief."

"How's the weather down there?" Moggs asked.

"Sunny everyday, but not that we notice. We've been training underwater twelve hours a day." Meretti replied.

"I could imagine. How's that going by the way?"

"Cold." Tangelin answered. "But we've been breaking records as a matter of fact. Some of our guys managed to break the fastest time for set up to launch on one of the SDVs."

"Score one for the enlisted." Brigham grinned.

"Don't get used to it Brigham." Meretti interrupted. "You still forget that us here officers can shoot better than you all."

"Hey, we know they cheat." Tangelin jumped in.

"Yeah." Brigham gave Ackerson a stare. "A lot."

Ackerson chuckled and shook his head.

"Glad to see you boys still got that winning spirit." Moggs said. "But there's lots more ways we can settle that. But lets get down to business shall we. We head to Roosevelt Roads in a few days. Over here, we've proposed focusing on IADs. You boys think that's a good idea?"

"No arguments here Senior Chief, think that's an excellent idea." Tangelin nodded.

"Same here." Meretti agreed.

"Good." Moggs took some notes. "Anything else?"

"Definitely need to fit in some **FTXs**, for each phase of the mission. Insertion, over the beach, approach to target, and most importantly the assault on the power sources." Brigham announced. "I know that's not everything but a good idea I think we need to consider."

"Point taken." Moggs concurred. "Meretti, Tangelin, you guys been thinking about anything else?"

"Nope."

"Um, know we're not supposed to do this. But I think we should talk about the possibility of linking up with resistance forces." Ackerson spoke up.

Moggs took a breath. "I don't know Lieutenant, if Defense Enterprises gets a hint that we're watching them and stirring things up, they could beef up their forces in places we previously did not anticipate."

"That is a risk to look out for Senior Chief." Ackerson said. "But if those marines and soldiers are planning to punch through once we disable that shield, they're gonna need some help. And these resistance forces, if we run into any that is, could be a big help to our guys in the fight."

"Not to mention the information they could give us." Brigham added. "Those boys have a lot more knowledge of the situation than we do. No better information than that spoken from those on the front."

"I concur Senior Chief." Tangelin said.

"Same here. I mean, part of our mission does incorporate recon and those resistance fighters could save us a lot of time and possibly a lot of trouble." Meretti stated.

"Good points there, gentlemen. I'll try to get the brass at **SOCOM** to give us the go ahead to change the **ROE**. That'll be like herding cats. But I'll see what I can do."

"I think it's really something to look in to. If you give them the same argument we gave you, then I'm sure they'll bend the rules a little. And if I remember correctly, we got an admiral there who was a SEAL." Ackerson reminded Moggs.

"I agree." Moggs nodded. "And I believe it will be a big help to us and others to contact these resistance guys. But Meretti, Tangelin, that is all. Look forward to meeting up with you guys at Roosevelt Roads."

"Hooyah Senior Chief." Tangelin and Meretti said.

Moggs cut off the projector. "So how do you two wanna finish up the last two days here?"

"I'm thinking of giving the boys a rest. Light PT and rounds at the range." Ackerson advised. "That way I can shut up Brigham here, once and for all."

"Keep talking." Brigham teased. "But in all seriousness. I agree, 'cause once we get to Roosevelt Roads, we'll all have that thousand yard stare."

"That's the spirit." Moggs smiled. "Glad to see you guys wanna push yourselves. But remember don't wanna push yourselves too much, we still need to have healthy sailors y'know."

"We'll have you to make sure we don't get in trouble. But for now, I think we should get some shut-eye. Won't have much sleep once the real training starts." Ackerson stood up.

"Have to follow Carl's lead on that." Brigham added. "It was fun Senior Chief."

"Won't hold my sailors up." Moggs said. "I'll bid goodnight to you all."

"Sleep well Senior Chief." Ackerson headed to door.

"And don't let the bed bugs bite." Brigham laughed.

"Dully noted Bill."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Departure**

The kind folks at Pope Air Force Base eagerly volunteered to help the sailors load their equipment onto the aircraft. But being the perfectionists they were, the sailors graciously declined. Not that they meant to be rude. They just preferred to do things their way.

Training at Bragg had officially come to an end six hours ago. Yet, despite finishing up at the shooting range, Ackerson and his men still carried their rifles. For these sailors, not having a rifle at hand was comparable to not wearing a watch. They simply felt naked without one.

The elite team of operators paced around on the tarmac while several crew chiefs began the meticulous process of inspecting the massive cargo plane for flight. Each man was beginning to get a little anxious. They were not accustomed to sitting around waiting for something to happen. It felt odd to not be training for a time.

"When I really think about it. Doesn't really make a lotta sense to be luggin' us around in a big ass trash hauler like this." Moore observed.

"Nope." Kaufman kicked at the ground. "It really doesn't. But like the Air Force really cares. They got the budget for it. If you got the money, guess you can do whatever the hell you want with it.

"Yup." Brigham chimed in. "Like relishing in the sweet nectar of victory. Ain't that right Carl?"

"Yeah, yeah." Ackerson sighed. "So you shot better than me this time. Isn't like you're God's gift to shooting a rifle."

"Oh, I never said I was. But I always knew I was a better shot than you."

Ackerson pretended to sneeze, sneaking in a bullshit.

"What was that?" Brigham laughed. "Bullshit? Asher, front and center please."

"Yeah, Chief?" Asher asked a bit puzzled.

"Would you kindly explain to us, word for word, the little bet I had with the elltee?"

Asher cleared his throat and began to speak quite theatrically in his best rendition of an English accent. "As stipulated on the sixteenth of August, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and thirty-six, Sir William John Brigham and Sir Carlton Robert Ackerson began quite an extravagant contest. For three intense hours, they fired a flurry of endless bullets in hopes of being recognized as the best. The winner would claim the title of better rifleman and the loser, well, quite frankly, would just be referred to as the loser."

Ackerson chuckled in embarrassment, while the others were almost shedding tears of laughter.

"And without further ado." Asher continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the winner of the fifth annual _Brigham Rules and Ackerson is Pathetic, Rifle Contest._" Asher struggled to keep a straight face, while his teammates rolled around on the tarmac, yelping and laughing relentlessly. "Drum roll please. Thank you. Why yes, the winner of the contest, Sir William John Brigham. Congratulations good sir."

"You fellas are no good." Ackerson managed, taking the teasing in good spirit.

"Hey, we still love ya Carl." Brigham consoled. "Know it won't improve your shooting too much. But regardless of how bad you shoot, we still love you."'

"Hold up everyone." Silver blurted out. "I know the Chief here may be a better shot than the elltee. But I feel like I need to remind everyone who the best shooter on this team really is."

"Y'know Silver, you could have let me rub it in for five more minutes. Just five more minutes, that's all I wanted."

"Sorry Chief, but I just had to make sure everyone knew not to call you the best shooter. Sure, better than Ackerson, but never me."

"Awesome, no this is great, good for me." Brigham groaned. "Now the new guy takes shots at me. What's next, flying monkeys?"

"Nope, that's already happened before. Wizard of Oz I think." Rios chimed in.

Brigham gave the sailor a sarcastic smile. "Thanks for lifting my spirits Rios. Really means a lot."

"Thought you had me didn't ya." Ackerson chided. "I knew they'd pull through."

"Suck ups."

"Gotta share Chief. So we can make fun of you and the elltee with the same amount of fairness." Moore said.

"Guess that makes me feel a bit better. But I'm still mad at you guys."

"Hey, you'll get over it soon enough." Kaufman pointed out. "And by the way. WHEN THE HELL ARE WE GONNA GET OUTTA HERE?!"

His teammates chuckled. "

"Down boy." Rios kidded.

"Just a few more minutes Kaufman." Moore added.

"Yeah." Kaufman said. "But you said the same thing a half hour ago."

"So what." Moore shrugged. "Off about thirty minutes. Same thing."

"No wonder he's the slowest guy on the team." Oliveira teased. "I'd hate to see how long it takes you to get up in the morning."

"Oh, I can get it up in the morning." Moore grinned. "Just ask your girlfriend." A few sailors laughed at the comment.

"Okay playboy. I got you." Oliveira replied. "How's your right hand by the way? Been brushing up on your technique?"

Moore's face turned red with embarrassment, while his teammates erupted in laughter.

"C'mon. Was it really that funny?" Trying to mask his embarrassment.

"Obviously. Else we wouldn't be laughing." Kaufman giggled.

"Face it man, he got you." Silver added.

"Yeah, its not worth busting a nut over." Asher smirked

"Just rub one out." Rios managed, holding back laughter. "You'll be okay."

"Yeah." Oliveira said between laughing." That'll teach you to talk about my girl."

Ackerson struggled to maintain his composure. But even he could not help laughing at Moore's expense.

"Alright already fellas." Ackerson wiped his eyes. "I think you've sufficiently embarrassed the guy for now."

"Thank you sir." Moore sighed.

"No problem." The laughter still wearing off. "Besides, looks like they're ready for takeoff."

"Hooyah!" A few sailors yelled.

"Shotgun!" Someone claimed.

It was quite ironic, with such a dangerous mission drawing near, that Ackerson and his crew smiling and joking with one another. Maybe they were genuinely happy or maybe they were trying their best to not think about the difficulties that lay before them. Regardless of whether or not their happiness was genuine, every one of the sailors knew what they were getting into. They knew it was going to be strenuous and they knew their likelihood of dying was very high. But they were warriors that had carefully considered the risks of the impending operation. If they did not want to be a part of the mission, then they would not be boarding the giant aircraft sitting on the tarmac. Turning back was not an option at this point, but going forward was. That meant it was time to prepare and time to be professional. Completing the mission came first and bringing everyone home came second. This was not a job for heroes. If they all wanted to accomplish their mission and get home in one piece, then they had to operate as a team. One man never won a battle. But individualism was not a problem for these men. They were not just warriors and professionals. They were also brothers and friends. None of them would hesitate to help each other out, even if that meant making the ultimate sacrifice. But none of them thought about it very much. At the most basic level all they wanted to do was get the job done and make it home, together.

"So, our finest hour draws ever so close." Brigham reminded Ackerson.

"You think it's really that poetic?" Ackerson asked.

"Who said I was trying to be poetic?" Brigham replied. "Can you just take me seriously for two seconds? Jesus."

"Sorry Chief. Just a little looser than usual. Don't worry, I'm sober."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Brigham joked. "But whatever though, I'm just anxious to get this last week of training underway."

"In a rush to get that thousand yard stare?"

"If it means living through a firefight I don't mind having that thousand yard stare, one damn bit."

"You think they feel the same way?" Ackerson nodded to his men up ahead.

"I was hoping you'd have the answer. But what do you think? Time for you to start answering questions."

"Judging by their aimless yet humorous conversation." Ackerson smirked. "They got team chemistry going for 'em and we did pretty good here at Bragg. So in terms of the team element I think we're good. What do you think?"

"Why you askin' me sir? Seems to me you've pretty much answered your own question." Brigham smiled and patted Ackerson on the back. "Trust yourself and trust us. You do that and your job becomes a whole hell'uva lot easier."

Ackerson gave Brigham a look of relief. "In that case, let's get this show on the road."

"Now that's the spirit. And hopefully, when we get there, you may become a better shooter." Brigham winked.

"Don't get me started, Bill." Ackerson warned.

"Hey, I was just trying to help out a fellow sailor."

"Just get on the damn plane."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Getting Your Feet Wet**

They were calm and cool, yet blazingly alert. Their eyes moved quickly, yet their bodies moved slow. Voices were quiet but the jungle was loud. Ears attuned to each and every sound. Any noise heard was noted and observed, from the rustle of a tree to a coo of a bird.

Someone was here, but no one was there. Anything that moved warranted a stare. Hunter and game were now one in the same. The one seen first would probably die, yet the one who could adapt would probably survive. A presence was near and contact would be made. But the moment of meeting was unknown and vague.

A pop rings out, followed by another. The deadly exchange between hunters was afoot.

"CONTACT! AT OUR TWO!" Ackerson yelled as he dropped to the dirt.

"CONTACT AT TWO!" The others replied.

Following training, every man dropped down right where he stood, and proceeded to return fire. Constant deafening gunfire resonated throughout the jungle, but the sailors stayed put. Instead of panicking, they continued to shoot in the perceived direction of the enemy. For the moment, Ackerson's group wasn't shooting to kill. In all likelihood, their shots were probably way off the mark. Rather, their shooting was an attempt to keep the enemy's head down. It may not have been an exact science, but at least the tactic was buying these warriors some much needed time.

As the jungle brawl raged on, the embattled group of eight slowly began to maneuver themselves into a line angled off to the left. They still took time to fire their rifles, but concentrated on getting into a proper formation.

After a series of careful yet quick movements, the line was formed. Ackerson found himself at the front while Brigham found himself at the back. That way, the team leadership could manage the group from both directions. But the positioning really didn't matter though. Each man knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

Eight skilled marksmen now had their rifles poised to strike. Into the sea of vibrant green plants they fired their flurry of bullets. Most shot in short staccato three-round bursts, everyone except for Moore. His Mk-46 **SAW** screamed as it sent twenty rounds between shots flailing downrange. Anyone on the receiving end of those bullets was having a very bad day. But as far as the team was concerned, Moore and his SAW were quite a blessing to behold.

With a steady stream of gunfire firmly established, Ackerson was ready to run. Even though he and his team were doing a good job of making the enemy pay for the engagement, he had no intention of sticking around. It was time to put the _leapfrog_ to good use.

"LEAPFROG! STRONG RIGHT!"

"STRONG RIGHT!"

Ackerson fired off the last three rounds of his magazine. But instead of reloading and staying put, he turned around, tapped the shoulder of the teammate behind him, and darted a hundred feet right and away from the flurry of activity. Meanwhile, the others continued shooting towards the enemy. While their commander worked on finding a suitable position further back, they worked on keeping the adversaries at bay.

Rios, the teammate who Ackerson tapped on the shoulder, had just expended his current magazine. Repeating what his **OIC** had done a minute earlier Rios turned around, tapped the shoulder of teammate behind him, and ran to join Ackerson at the new firing position. When he arrived, he and his commander would recommence the process of shooting.

The mechanical process of shooting, tapping shoulders, and running away continued for a few more minutes, until two men were left at the original point of contact. Depleting the last of their magazines they both ran back to join the rest of their team.

When the two sailors finally arrived, gunfire still remained relentlessly constant. But this time around, it was the enemy who eased off on the aggression scale. The fighting sailors however, did not let up. They continued bringing the fight to the enemy while retreating at the same time.

"EIGHT!" Ackerson yelled to Brigham, his eyes still bearing down the rifle. "ONE! (referring to himself) RADIO FOR EXTRACT! AT POINT DELTA!"

"EIGHT COPIES!" Brigham acknowledged as he continued shooting.

Waiting for the proper moment to get to work he fired a few more shots. Realizing that his teammates now took into account that one less man was firing, he fired up the eight thousand dollar hand held radio.

"GHOST BLACK SIX, GHOST BLACK SIX!" Brigham yelled over the cacophony. "DEMON BLACK ZERO, DEMON BLACK ZERO! REQUEST RIVERINE EXTRACT, MAP GRID HOTEL INDIA TWO NINER, OVER!"

Holding his ear up to the receiver, Brigham listened intently for a reply.

"Demon black zero, demon black zero." Announced the crystal clear voice. "Ghost black six, ghost black six. Confirmation on extract. Say again on coordinates, over?"

"Shit." Brigham cursed under his breath. "I SAY AGAIN, MAP GRID HOTEL, INDIA, TWO, NINER, OVER!"

"Acknowledged." The other end calmly replied. "ETA, five minutes, over."

"DEMON BLACK ZERO COPIES! LOOK FOR GULF (Green) SMOKE, OVER." Not wanting to give the enemy a hint of where'd they be.

"Affirmative on gulf smoke. Over and out!"

"ONE!" Brigham yelled. "EIGHT! EXTRACT IN FIVE!"

"ONE COPIES!" Ackerson replied. "ELEMENT! LEAPFROG TO EXTRACT!"

"LEAPFROG TO EXTRACT!" Everyone replied.

The organized retreat began yet again. One by one the sailors fired off the remnants of the magazines, tapped their teammates on the shoulders, and hauled ass to a nearby riverbank.

After traversing a few hundred feet of thick jungle, the band of eight warriors found themselves at the muddy banks of the river. They squinted at the change in light, but quickly got back into the fight. Maintaining the edge, they turned around and formed a semicircle facing the jungle. Even though the enemy's gunfire had become sparse and sporadic, these warriors weren't settling down just yet. Rifles were raised and ready drop anyone who thought it was a good day to be a hero. But getting past this group of trained killers would be as easy as punching God. It simply wasn't going to happen.

All doubts were suddenly squashed when the familiar and comforting rumble of a **RHIB** reverberated from downstream. Anyone foolish enough to challenge the troops at this point was probably an individual without a lot of common sense.

Coming into view, the sleek black boat started combing the jungle with bullets. The sight of the deadly vessel ravaging the thick brush, forced a smile across quite a few of the grimy mugs. Their ride out of Dodge was fast approaching.

Wasting no time the small craft sped towards the riverbank, suddenly slowing down letting the bow drift across the soft mud. The sailors took a few seconds to fire a few rounds back towards the enemy, before turning around to board the boat. With everyone now on board the RHIB kicked the turbojets to full power and jetted away from the combat zone.

"WHEW!" Moore yelled. "THAT WAS FUN!"

"YOU BOYS SAVE US A COOL ONE?" Kaufman grinned.

"FORGOT YOURS. SORRY!" One of the combat crewmen shrugged. "BESIDES YOU CAN GO WITHOUT A BEER THIS TIME!"

"YEAH KAUFMAN! DIDN'T YOU GET INTOXICATED LAST TIME!?" Rios asked.

"OH YEAH, NOW I REMEMBER! OOPS!"

"OOPS IS RIGHT! NOW YOU GUYS SEE WHY IT'S A BAD IDEA TO FEED THE ANIMALS! PETTY OFFICER, WILLIS!" Brigham told the crewman. "DON'T FEEL BAD ABOUT IT!"

"ROG-E-O!" The young man smiled.

"SO WHAT'S NEXT, SIR!" Silver asked. "NEED TO GET SOME TIME WITH MY RIFLE IN."  
"OH YOU WILL." Ackerson replied with a sly grin.

"HOW COME THE NEW GUY GETS SPECIAL TREATMENT?! AREN'T WE ALL YOUR FRIENDS!" Oliveira pretended to whine.

"BECAUSE YOU GUYS ALWAYS GET TO HAVE ALL THE FUN! BUT DON'T WHINE CHILDREN, THERE"S PLENTY OF FUN TO GO AROUND!"

"CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THE LOOK ON THEIR FACES WHEN WE GET BACK!" Asher said.

"BET THOSE MARINES ARE PISSED!" Brigham grinned.

"NOW THAT MEANS WE DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEIR TRASHTALKING ANYMORE!" Rios pointed out.

"SUCKS FOR THEM!" Moore laughed.

"DON'T RUB IT IN GENTLEMEN!" Ackerson warned. "THESE WILL PROBABLY BE THE SAME GUYS HELPING US OUT IN A FEW MONTHS"

"WE PROMISE!" Everyone lied

"BULLSHIT!" Ackerson laughed. "YOU DAMN TURNCOATS!"

"WHY THANK YOU!" Brigham chuckled.

"YOU'RE WELCOME. NOW SHUT UP SO I CAN ENJOY THE RISING SUN!"

* * *

SEALs are elite and so are Marines. They are equally brave and equally professional. Training is the moment in which they prepare and fighting is the moment in which they perform. Combat is the art they seek to master. Winning is everything and losing is nothing short of unacceptable. They see victory as life and defeat as death. For war is a harsh place, bitter and cold, where only the learned, survive and grow old. 

Morbidity aside most of the troops were in a pretty good mood. While there may have been a loser from today's exercise, both groups of warriors knew, in the larger scheme of things, they were all on the same side. But the Marines still felt somewhat melancholic about letting their Navy counterparts escape. On the other hand Ackerson, and his crew were basking in success. For some of the sailors, remaining humble about the victory was an exercise in restraint.

Training was a very serious endeavor for them. But regardless of win or loss, they all knew not to hate themselves for occasionally messing up. Not getting it right in training simply meant you had to do a better job next time. Doing a better job in training thereby prevents warriors from screwing up in combat. The best always try to learn as much as they can in training, because a lesson learned in war, is usually a lesson learned in death.

While these warriors may have been trained killers, they were still ordinary men interested in everyday things. Sailors and Marines mingled together talking about sports, others politics, and in some cases their kids and spouses. Keeping in touch with their humanity was equally important as, if not more so, than doing their jobs. Even warriors know when to draw the line between warfare and life.

"TENNSHUUN ON DECK!" A voice boomed from the back of the room.

Everyone snapped to attention, saluting a master chief petty officer and a Marine Captain making their way into the room.

"At ease gentlemen." Moggs ordered. "Captain, you have the floor."

"Thank you Master Chief." The officer nodded. "Gentlemen, you may take your seats."

The crew-cut shaved Marine made his way down an aisle of chairs to the front of the dimly lit room. Arriving at a table he cut on a laptop to set up a power point presentation.

"Good afternoon everyone. For those of you that don't know me, my name is Captain Torres. Glad to see you all haven't ripped each others heads off." He quickly grinned before continuing. "Now before I begin, I'd like to offer congratulations, a real reluctant congratulations if I may, to Lieutenant Ackerson and his team for their success at today's exercise."

"HOOYAH!" The SEALs roared.

"Yeah, yeah fellas." Torres smirked. "Enjoy it while it lasts. You'll get yours soon enough. Isn't that right Marines?"

"HOO RAH!" The marines barked.

"That's the spirit." Torres smiled. "Now, on to business. Welcome to today's** AAR**. To begin with I want to commend both groups on a job well done. Marines, you boys did an excellent job. But the SEALs were just that much better than you on this go around. Rivalries aside gentlemen, these exercises are not set up to claim bragging rights. Remember people, out on the battlefield we're all on the same team. So Marines, thank the SEALs for exposing your weaknesses. We'll touch on them in a few moments. But for the interim I ask you not to take the word weaknesses personally. We train to get better and that's exactly what we're here for."

"SEALs" Torres turned to regard the sailors. "You guys also did a bang up job. But as good as you boys may be, you're not invincible either. Your Marine brothers exposed some of your weaknesses as well. Likewise, I'll ask you gentlemen just like I asked my Marines, not to take the criticism personally. We're all professionals here, so I expect each and every one of us to walk away from this AAR having learned something. Any questions?"

No one answered as Torres looked around the room.

"Good. My time is up for now. I now invite Master Chief Petty Officer Moggs to the front of the room to offer his critique on my Marines. SEALs, I'll be providing critique for your performance later. Moggs. You're up."

"Thank you Captain." Moggs said as he made his way to the laptop on the desk. "Good afternoon. As a short introduction my name is Master Chief Petty Officer Moggs, and for those of you that don't know, that is my actual last name. Not a nickname." Moggs smiled. "So if any of you jarheads wanna laugh, I suggest you get it out the way now, because I will offer some sharp critiques. Laughing starts now."

In good spirits all the Marines and even the SEALs offered up some laughter.

"Okay gentlemen, times up for the laughing allowance. Time to get to work." Moggs brought up a slide with a map covered in several blue and red icons and crisscrossing arrows. "Marines, your mission was to intercept and ambush a group of mercenaries conducting reconnaissance on behalf of an insurgent army. You're approach was well done and you maintained a great level of stealth. Everything was going well for you boys up until the moment of contact. You made contact too early. Now, you guys could have gotten mine, because they did not even know you were there up until the shots rang out. Fireteam leaders, I know it's tempting to drop some unlucky bastard as soon as he enters your sights. I'm not here to talk about your shooting skills, because I know for a fact that you **MEU-SOC** boys are damn good shooters. But as a word to the wise, I would advise you gentlemen to wait until your victims are dead in front of you. You guys had the element of surprise down pat and I would have ventured to say you could have done some serious damage if you just waited a few more minutes. Having your prey well within the kill-zone is a means of insurance. It will be easier for you to kill someone and harder for victims to get away."

Every one of the Marines furiously scribbled some notes down while Moggs moved on to another slide.

"Why is this training so important for you gentlemen? Well for starters it's because of who you'll be up against in the next couple of months. Now I'll only talk about this briefly, because your actual mission may not get the go-ahead for a while, but regardless pay attention closely." A picture of some imposing figures appeared on a large screen. "Our good ole friends from Defense Enterprises gentlemen, are probably the first equal we've had on the battlefield in a long, long time. These boys are just as professional as you are but don't share our regard for innocent life. That means they will try to kill you any chance they get. Their minds are controlled by an advanced drug that makes them extremely disciplined in the face of battle. In some cases, according to intelligence work from the good boys and girls from CIA, these advanced drugs can enhance their abilities to fight."

"As this relates to your training, let me explain. Defense Enterprises have top of the line troops, which is why we're giving you top of the line adversaries in training and who better than the SEALs. They can mimic these Defense Enterprises soldiers pretty damn well. These guys understand just how elite these men are and have good tricks for dealing with them. So my advice, talk to these guys about everything, engage them in dialogue and ask them questions. The answers my guys can give you will be priceless during the real thing."

"I like to commend you Marines on a very good job. But I'm not going to bullshit you here either. Your mission was still incomplete because the mercenary recon element got away. If that SEAL team was actually Defense Enterprises you guys could have been in some serious trouble. The exercise stipulated you were on a long-range search and destroy mission with air support quite a ways away. We don't know exactly what our friends have waiting for us in Brazil. So theoretically they could have radioed back to their HQ and hit you with some kind of nasty leaving you boys up shit creek without a paddle. The moral of that story is, when you plan on killing something, kill it. Don't let it pass go, collect two hundred dollars, just kill it. But I feel like in the next training exercises you guy's will, I hate to say it, get my guys at least once. For now, that is all. Appreciate your time gentlemen. Thank you."

Moggs took a seat as Torres got up to address the SEALs.

"Moggs, thank you for the thorough schlacking. I think my Marines really appreciated that." Torres smiled. "Now its my turn. Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have you training with us. But it is also a pleasure to offer you guys some support in the way of constructive criticism. You're mission was essentially an IAD exercise, but theoretically, if this was real you would probably have to bypass a Defense Enterprises patrol, on your way to photographing a satellite dish. I have to give you boys a pat on the back for successfully breaking contact with your tried and true leapfrog maneuver, that I must say, us here Marines are still trying to perfect. But you know, as well as I do, that if you were in Brazil, you'd be in one hell of a fight, since extraction or support of any kind would be nonexistent."

"Now let me tell you where you guys messed up. But in all honesty you guys really didn't mess up. You adapted to the situation and made your way outta Dodge and did everything right. But we had snipers watching your every move updating your position to my Marines looking for you. You boys didn't even see them did you?"

"No sir." Oliveira replied.

"Not at all." Ackerson admitted. "See you guys still got the best snipers in the world."

"Appreciate the comment Lieutenant." Torres replied. "Now, let me say that we used some very new and somewhat experimental techniques. First of all we moved a lot more aggressively than we're used to. Our snipers vehemently opposed me on this, but in looking back I really wanna thank them for stalking you the way they did. I also want to say we were using an extremely new and experimental ghillie suit that incorporates a semi-invisible camouflage and according to how close my snipers said they got to you, it works pretty damn good. Sergeant Baharata, tell them how close you got."

A young marine stood up.

"Within ten feet of the tail of the formation Captain."

"Now I brought this up not to make you feel bad, but to give you a heads up. Defense Enterprises is believed to have a type of camouflage that is a lot more advanced than what my Marines were using. That means, you guys have to be on you're A-game a hundred and ten percent of the time. And if that means taking a few hours more to patrol then so be it. I know you gentlemen pride yourselves on patience and professionalism. But you guys have to turn it up much more than you're used to. Yet in saying that, I'm being redundant. I know you sailors know how to push yourselves."

"The next ten slides I'm bringing up will show your positions relative to the positions of my snipers over the course of three hours. Red dots are my men and red arrows are the paths they followed. Blue dots are you guys and the blue arrows are the paths you took. Nothing really new on the first, second, and third slides. The fourth slide at oh five thirty shows you guys finally being spotted. Now my snipers were simply ordered to observe and not fire. But if given the order they could have killed you and knowing they could have been Defense Enterprises troops I think is scary enough. Now the next set of slides shows the snipers closing in on your position, and in sniper time, they were closing pretty rapidly. Here on the tenth slide shows Sergeant Baharata and his spotter represented by these two red dots right behind a blue dot. So right at the moment of contact there they were, right behind your tail guy. God forbid one of them had a grenade."

"You see 'em?" Ackerson whispered to Brigham.

"Hate to lie sir and I'm not going to here. I heard something strange, but my eyes were saying otherwise."

"What was that Lieutenant Ackerson?"

"Sorry Captain, just asking my Chief, who happened to be the tail guy, if he saw your snipers."

"Well did you Chief?" Torres asked.

"My eyes haven't failed me yet, but your guys got by me. But then again, I'm an old guy, probably age."

Torres as well as others chuckled. "Well, I don't think it's your age Chief. I believe your eyes are pretty damn good. But looks like we got by you this time. But this goes to show all of us what exactly we have to work on. But for now, that is all I have. Enjoyed your time gentlemen."

Torres took a seat while Moggs walked to the front of the room to close.

"Gentlemen, I feel like we have a thorough understanding of what we need to work on. Like Captain Torres said, it is important that we engage in dialogue with one another in order to help each other out. Please, do not be selfish with what you know. Because one piece of information can prove real helpful in the field. Simply put, be a sponge to everything during this training regimen. But I'm not a man who likes to keep people sitting around. We all have obligations to tend to and my SEALs still have a lot more work to do. But once again, I'd like to thank you all for your patience and attention. Dismissed."

The AAR ended with mostly everyone heading out to get a quick bite to eat. Ackerson was about to leave as well before a familiar voice stopped him.

"Well, if it isn't Carl." A voice said.

A bit annoyed Ackerson turned around to see what it was. But his frown soon faded when he saw who the person was.

"Tanaka!" Ackerson grinned embracing the comrade. "Been a long time man. How you been?"

"Better than you." The marine grinned. "Been great leading a bunch of jarheads into harm's way."

"Well you always liked to intimidate the freshmen back at the Academy didn't ya? Some things never change I guess." Ackerson laughed.

"And if I remember correctly you were one of my cohorts." Tanaka smiled.

"Yeah." Ackerson agreed. "That I was."

"Yup. Good times."

"But I always thought you wanted to be a pilot. Why the sudden change in heart?"

"Yeah I was on my way to flight school, but we still had to qualify with a rifle. So, guess what, I pick up a gun and end up being a sharpshooter. So looks like the Corps had other plans for me. To make a long story short, some nut convinces me to join an MEU and I'm stuck here. But in looking back I feel happy about that decision. I wouldn't trade leading these guys for anything."

"Well you sure got bigger from the last time I saw ya. Eating barbells for lunch my man?"

"You never find an unfit marine Carl. Besides I could kick your SEAL ass any day."

"And you're still cocky as hell. But hey that's why I love ya."

"Well enough of my accolades. How's it been in the SEALs?"

"Harder everyday and this week of training is supposed to be right up there with Hell Week. But I think that's moreover Moggs talking out the side of his mouth. But yeah, it's been a challenge, just what I've been looking for."

"Making a career I see."

"Believe it or not, this is my last year. Getting a discharge after this."

"No shit? How long you been going?"

"Been active seven years and never missed a deployment and seen combat a good deal. But like every man who loves women, I've fallen for someone. Planning on getting married as soon as I get out."

"Well if you need a best man, I'm available." Tanaka grinned.

"Appreciate the offer buddy and I'll keep that in mind. But hey man gotta run. Moggs wants to torture us yet again."

"Alright, but if we don't meet again, just wanna give you the best of luck on the op. Hopefully I'll catch you on the flipside in a couple of months."

"You too Jake. See ya around."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Thousand Yard Stare**

Their eyes spoke of an exhaustive misery, a hellish journey through pain and fatigue. Silent and still, they sat on a beach, staring across the waters, focusing on nothing, but pondering much. Minds were submerged in a sea of thought, searching for answers in an abyss full of questions. Soon they would dive into the great unknown. What they would find, they did not know.

No matter how brave these men may have been, they all had fears and fundamental concerns. All of them wrestled with the possibility of failing, a reality more terrifying than the prospect of death. From their point of view, death simply meant you were no longer alive. Failure, on the other hand, meant you did not succeed, and an inability to succeed was a violation of the warrior creed.

Beyond the scope of failure, other concerns abounded. The most obvious dealt with each man wondering whether or not his skills were up to par. No one wanted to be the man who let the team down. In order for a team to function, the individuals had to function as well. But merely functioning was not enough for these men. They all set high expectations for themselves and they were constantly working to raise the bar. Doing things halfway was bad for the team. Thus, each man shared a desire to be the best at what he did. For the team was only as good as the individuals it consisted of.

A challenge confronted them, a challenge unlike any they had ever known. Their enemy was elite, the mission was daunting, and the responsibility was immense. Eight ordinary men would have to do extraordinary things, all the while fighting a battle that required perfection to win. Fate was against them and the odds were incredible. But they would fight their war and fight it well. Come hell or high water, they would accomplish their mission, regardless of sacrifice, regardless of consequence. This was the life of a warrior, the life they inherited.

While their mission was certainly going to be difficult, it was still a moment these men had been waiting for all their lives. They trained hard, pushed their bodies and minds to the limits, all in hopes that someday, they would be given a chance to fight. Wars are evil and wars are nasty. But nonetheless, they are still fought for reasons of greed, hate, anger, pride, and sometimes, blind foolishness. As unfortunate as war may have been, Ackerson and his men participated without uttering a single complaint.

Pray for peace, train for war was a common saying amongst these warriors. They sought neither to justify it nor to speak against it. But in regards to the current situation, they had no qualms about joining this particular fight. Every man on the team, with the exception of Silver, had engaged in battle, some against nations and others against terrorist groups. In those instances they all had various feelings about what they were doing. Sometimes they believed in the fight and sometimes they did not. Either way, they completed their missions, keeping opinions to themselves.

Yet this operation was unique in more ways than one. To begin with, they would be fighting an enemy they had never encountered. A company taking over a nation seemed like an idea straight out of science fiction, but fiction it was not. One of the most powerful private military companies dared to challenge the strength of several western nations. When these nations took action, an advanced electric shield soundly defeated their most advanced weapons systems. For the first time ever, the free world faced an enemy that actually had the capability to outright defeat them. As a last hope they turned to their Special Forces, which included a group of elite Navy SEALs. The weight of the world rested heavy on their shoulders. Failure was simply not an option.

With the brief hiatus coming to a close, the weary sailors stood up, left their meanderings on the beach, and headed towards the newly arrived five-ton truck. A fight was waiting for them and they wanted to be ready for it. Sulking and feeling sorry for themselves was out of the question. They planned on keeping it that way, since negativity only dragged them down. Boarding the truck they gave an ominous look across the dreary gray sky, hoping it would reveal some hint of their destiny. But they quickly shrugged the thought off. Hope was a good thing, but sitting around waiting for something to happen, never won any battles.

* * *

People who find themselves ready to pass out from the standard nine to five have no business in the SEALs. Not to say that the standard nine to five is not stressful. As a matter of fact there are plenty of nine to five jobs that are very exhaustive, such as teaching, working the stock market, or even taking orders at a busy restaurant. The elite sailors of the teams respect the professions of others while not bragging about theirs. But the saying, the only easy day was yesterday perfectly captures the life of such warriors. Their days only get longer and their minds and bodies are constantly pushed to the limits and beyond. Working in the everyday world may be exhaustive, but at least the strain maintains a relatively even level of consistency. In the teams however, the work only gets harder, and the only way to cope with an increasing level of difficulty is to adapt, something the SEALs are quite good at. 

Those who cannot cooperate with others don't last very long in the teams. Professionalism is key to maintaining a tightly knit group of warriors. If men are unwilling and averse to working with their fellow combatants then they have no business being around at all. Such professional warriors do not waste time fighting one another or arguing over petty and insignificant differences. Even if a few men on the team detest one another, they still work together for the sake of the team. But doing so is certainly a challenge, a challenge that Ackerson currently had to overcome at current moment.

It was bad enough that he hadn't slept in the past twenty-seven hours. Awake at the most ungodly of hours, his body was sore, his eyes were bloodshot, and his mind was tired. The sailor's attitude was suffering even more, his generally friendly demeanor falling victim to the strenuous routine of pain and suffering. Ackerson had felt this way before and he could deal with it again. Things only would have been easier if he hadn't had to work with one particular individual.

Ackerson usually got along with anyone he met. He would go out of his way to get to know people and spend a lot of time with those on his team. Not only did the young lieutenant want to fight along side his teammates, he wanted to know them as people. Most men in the teams are lifelong friends, in battle and in life and Ackerson was no exception. But even the most cordial of people are not immune to bad blood.

Being the positive young man that he was, a lot was needed to get on Ackerson's bad side. But one person often succeeded, his equal, his teammate and the leader of the other half of the platoon. Sean Meretti graduated from the Naval Academy the same time as Ackerson. From the very beginning, the two sailors got off on the wrong foot. Meretti was quite the perfectionist that just could not handle the idea of having an equal. Ackerson and Meretti were even in their grades, athletic skills, and accolades. Trying to take the high road, Ackerson offered to ignore Meretti's attitude and befriend his rival. Meretti on the other hand would hear none of it.

Throughout their tenure at the Naval Academy, the two sailors had a few altercations, a few of which resulted in a harsh thrashing of calisthenics in the wintry Annapolis rain. While the equal level of punishment forced the two men to calm down, they never quite got over their ugly rivalry.

When Ackerson received his marching orders to SEAL Team Four, he was ready and willing to meet the men he would be serving with. He recognized a couple of buddies from his BUD/S class and got along well with several new faces. But just when it seemed like the memories of bitterness were fading away, a sour dose of familiarity greeted him once again. Meretti and Ackerson ended up on the same team as well as in the same platoon. Neither had forgotten about their tumultuous pasts, but at least they set aside their anger to facilitate the efforts of the team.

Professionals like to act like professionals and for the most part, Ackerson and Meretti did. They had just finished up the first of many platoon leader meetings, of which would serve as the basis for a more detailed and intricate briefing for the upcoming mission. The two of them had set their differences aside to come up with a sound plan. Ackerson was anxious to close up and head back to the barracks for some sleep. But Meretti, as always felt like challenging his counterpart.

A single light hung from the ceiling as Ackerson and Meretti faced one another. Their eyes were dark and hidden from each another, a result of the room's dim lighting. That made the mood somewhat tense, but Ackerson knew he could meet Meretti's insults with much the same sting. They hadn't gotten into a shouting match, but their hate for one another was simmering nonetheless.

"Tell me Ackerson, you believe in this mission?" Meretti asked.

"Sure do. How about you?" Ackerson replied sipping some beer.

"I could really care less. This country pays us, we do our job and we get out. There's nothing lofty about this."

"But we're liberating people man. That's a good thing."

"It doesn't matter. No matter how much good or bad we do, we're all headed to the same place. We'll just fade into eternal oblivion, that's all."

"Well even if you're right, a lot of people still prefer to do the right thing." Ackerson countered.

"You believe the hype don't you? Oh yeah, now I remember. You used to eat all that Academy bullshit up didn't you? Defending this country and helping those who can't help themselves. Tell the truth man, you just love killing people."

Ackerson locked gazes with Meretti. "What the hell are you getting at Meretti? You trying to get on my bad side or are you really trying to say something?"

"I didn't think the question would upset you like that." Meretti said with a smirk on his face. "But c'mon man, if you think about it, that's what we are. Trained killers. Any of these guys can tell you that. And shit, for what the old fart Moggs is worth, he probably just bullshits us on those speeches he gives us. They sound inspiring, but I just think the guy likes the sound of his own voice."

"The Senior Chief Petty Officer really does believe the stuff he says and you should too. He's been in this business longer than any of us and, by default, I think its obvious he knows more than you."

"Shut the fuck up Carl. He's been brainwashed and so have you, by the made up ethos of this organization. We kill people and do our country's dirty work and they make us regurgitate all this fancy rhetoric about being in a team and making sacrifices for our country. And what do we get in return, some lousy ass pay cut that doesn't give us a damn worth of justice."

Ackerson sighed, knowing he couldn't convince Meretti otherwise. But he tried anyway. "I agree, the pay does suck, considering it doesn't really give us the money we deserve. But you're obviously here for reasons other than the money. You know what it means to lead, we're both leaders and you claim you don't believe in the ethos of the team and teamwork. C'mon man you got more holes in your argument than corpses at the Saint Valentines Day Massacre."

"There was a time when I used to buy all that shit. Now, I see the lies and see the respect we get from the people, the politicians, and even all those foreign bastards we help, which ain't much. See, people like you are the good ole boys, the by the book people, who always think what they're doing is so God damn high and mighty."

"I see you haven't changed one bit." Ackerson shook his head. "Always attacking other people when they upstage you. I mean what the hell is it with you? Matter of fact, with an attitude like that, I can't see how in God's name those instructors recommended you for a team."

Meretti laughed nonchalantly. "You always did like to kiss ass didn't you? Shit I bet you give free blow…"

Ackerson lunged out of his seat and grabbed Meretti by the shirt collar. "You listen to me you self-serving son of a bitch. I have never liked you and I never will. But I swear to God, if it weren't for the sake of this team, I'd drop your ass in a heartbeat. Now you can keep throwing shit in my face like that and find out just how violent I can really get. Because I've been holding back for quite some time and to be honest with you, I'm itching to break you in half." Throwing Meretti back in his chair. "Hooyah?"

Meretti gave Ackerson a dark cold stare. "Yeah Carl." He paused briefly. "Hoo-yah. But you really need to learn to control your temper. It could damn well get people killed."

Ackerson simply smiled this time. "You never quit don't you? But hey, guess some assholes never learn then. You keep talking, but I'm gonna rest assured that me and my team are ready."

Meretti snorted in disbelief. "Okay, yeah, I believe you. Just don't bet on it. I've seen your times and compared to who you'll be up against, between the two of us, you muthafuckas don't stand a chance." Pointing two fingers at Ackerson's chest. "Besides, why can't you pussies be more like us, the big boys?"

"Because we don't like to have our heads up our asses. It makes ya smell like shit, but you probably knew that already."

Meretti laughed. "I see you still have a way with words. But that's all you got. You can't beat me at what I do and I'll prove it at the adversarial FTX. That's the real barometer. Besides it sucks arguing in here like a bunch of old hags on menopause."

"Keep talking shit." Ackerson headed to the door. "You still seem to forget it's a team effort out there. And from what I've heard, you boys have a difficult time working with each other."

"Hey I love the wishful thinking. But you know how they say Carl." Meretti patted Ackerson on the shoulder. "Pays to be a winner, something you should try more often."

"Go fuck yourself." Ackerson simply shook his head.

"Not really." Meretti walked out the door. "But maybe you should start planning for the FTX, just to make the losing easier."

_Can't believe I stooped down to his level_. Ackerson wasn't proud of himself, but sometimes even the calm and collective had to throw down every once in a while. Maybe Meretti would talk to Moggs about the situation and have him removed. _Naw_. A Master Chief Petty Officer would have the platoon chiefs handle that situation. But Ackerson knew he had to patch things up with Meretti real quick, even if that meant taking a few cruel insults along the way. The high road was the path that Ackerson most often took. Pride may have gotten the best of him now and the challenge he gave Meretti was now weighing heavy on him.

Finally headed back to his quarters, Ackerson told himself. "Close your God damn mouth Carl. Close your damn mouth."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Survival of the Fittest**

Carl usually had a pretty tough skin. But every now and then some lucky person managed to get underneath the impervious layer. Ackerson knew he lost his cool last evening, an act considered very uncharacteristic of him. The otherwise calm lieutenant promised himself to never give Meretti the satisfaction of reacting to his taunts. For the most part, Ackerson succeeded in ignoring his counterpart. Giving heed to Meretti's words was not worth the energy. Nonetheless the mild mannered sailor walked right into the trap he so carefully tried to avoid.

Maybe it was time for Meretti to get roughed up a little. But in retrospect, Ackerson realized he hadn't accomplished much of anything. Violence and intimidation did nothing to put a guy like Meretti in his place. All it did was make him smile. He liked nothing more than to see someone react to the things he said. The only way to really get Meretti to keep quiet was being the better warrior. In other words, better skill could settle all kinds of beef, and exhibiting better talent was a surefire way of garnering respect amongst friends and adversaries.

Ackerson knew, that getting into Meretti's face was effectively an unofficial acceptance of a challenge. Meretti believed he was a better warrior than Ackerson and Ackerson believed he was a better warrior than Meretti. The two sailors shared a burning desire to prove to the other that he was the best. But Ackerson also remembered that training was not about showing off. It was all about preparing and trying to settle a rivalry was not only stupid it was dangerous. Ackerson had a team to prepare, not a score to settle.

It was almost time to brief his team on today's exercise. Meretti managed to get to Ackerson somewhat. But their battle was personal. Even Meretti knew when to lay off the taunts and Ackerson likewise. Both sailors were going into harm's way, and despite the fact that the two didn't like each other, they knew that there were greater matters at stake. Ackerson thoughts of the altercation were starting to fade away. Hoping to keep it that way, the young commander decided to have a word with his trusted Chief.

"They all should be getting here in a few minutes." Ackerson checked his watch.

"Yeah." Brigham snorted. "If they don't pass out first."

"I hear you on that one Bill. But then again who doesn't feel like shit right now?"

"Amen to that." Brigham agreed. "So what kinda routine did Moggs set up for us today?"

Ackerson sighed. "One of those adversarial FTXs. But seems like I had a run in with my favorite person the other night."

"You mean Meretti?" Brigham asked. "You hit him?"

"Does grabbing him by the shirt collar count?" Ackerson lit a cigarette.

"No." Sighing. "But seems like you were a heartbeat away from breaking his nose."

Laughing nervously. "This is true and to be honest it would have been really satisfying to smash my fist in his face."

"True, he has one coming for him at some point. But good thing you didn't take it all the way. Else Moggs would have the both of you relieved and then I'd catch hell for not working it out between the two of you. And you don't wanna see Moggs pissed off. I've had him as a BUD/S instructor and he was one of the haters."

"Doesn't seem like the type of guy who would stand for that kind of crap."

Chuckling. "Believe me, he doesn't."

"And what pisses me off is that Meretti was talking shit about Moggs."

"I'm not surprised." Brigham leaned back in a folding chair. "He comes across as one of the elitist officer types. No offense to you Carl."

"None taken." Ackerson smirked. "But I seriously wished he wouldn't have said that about the Master Chief."

"He's entitled to his opinions Carl. Besides, Karma's a bitch when you ain't on her good side. It'll come back around to bit him in the ass at some point. Just you watch."

"Hope you're right and hopefully it'll bite him on this FTX."

"Hey, don't wish for Karma man. its bad luck." Brigham pointed out.

"And since when did you become the team expert on Hinduism?" Ackerson laughed.

"Since pigs started flying?"

Shaking his head. "Why do I even listen to you sometimes?"

"How'd you put it? Because, um..." Brigham took time to clear his throat. "You are more than honored to have me as an advisor on your team. I am a priceless asset, a skilled operator with countless years of experience. No other service is as lucky to have me in their ranks."

"I did say that didn't I?" Ackerson admitted. "Guess I answered my own question then?"

"Yup, you listen to me because I'm right, no matter how crazy my words seem."

"Okay so if you say the sky is green it must be green then?"

"Damn right."

"Jesus." Ackerson smirked.

"Okay, I'm serious now. Explain to me what our job is today?"

"Moggs scheduled an adversarial FTX for this afternoon. Our mission is to infiltrate a communications center, plant charges on support towers surrounding a massive satellite dish, blow 'em up, and proceed to an extract point. Only catch is, the center is guarded by an elite squad of Defense Enterprise Special Forces, played by no other than Meretti's group."

"Any other guards there?"

"Dunno. They'll probably be serving as outlying guards if there are any other guards, that is. Meretti's boys will likely be guarding the really important shit."

"I buy it."

"Yeah, so do I. Just hope we can do the job. 'Cause I hate losing at the adversarial FTX before a deployment."

"Hey Carl, don't be too hard on yourself. You just learn if you screw up. And in the end, we're all on the same team out there. Even Meretti, who hates your guts, understands that."

"Guess he does." Ackerson sighed. "So you ready to get this party started."

"Ready and waiting." Brigham smiled.

"Hooyah!"

* * *

There was no moon and there were no stars, only thickening darkness and enveloping night. Shapes became formless and colors became black, in the endless void that suffocated light. Sights disappeared, but sounds remained, symbolic of a tension alive and awake. 

Specters incarnate walked the earth, forging a path through jungle and dirt. They were blind to eyes and silent to ears. Equals they would fight, reciprocal in skill and reflective in discipline. Winners would relish in the pride of victory, while losers would anguish in the shame of defeat. Men would battle to the very end, drawing their strength from the warriors within.

Dark figures emerged from the brush, their movements subtle, slow, and deliberate. Stealth was a gift they hoped to preserve, for it was the demons of war they wished not yet to disturb. A barren guardhouse they approached with caution. Boots treaded concrete, cracked and worn, littered with weeds, made strong my storms. Headway was made through a tattered metal fence, surrounding a citadel, forgotten and old.

Weaving between buildings bereft of souls, rifles moved carefully with diligence and control. Signs of life, they had yet to behold, as eyes looked for an enemy, fearless and cold. Instincts felt a presence nearing, distinctly feint, yet alive and teeming. Heartbeats raced while minds straddled a line between empirical observance and wild paranoia.

After endless minutes of careful footsteps, the patient warriors arrived at the place they so carefully sought. The walls were scorned by years of abuse and neglect, covered in vines, trodden by rust. This structure was unique, a tasteful blend of age and modernity. It's exterior embodied an element of Spanish culture, a stucco texture, brownish in color. Art deco window frames accented the antique design, strangely ironic of a building way past it's prime.

An entrance greeted them, open and lacking doors. Without uttering a word, the circumspect operators proceeded inside and began to observe. Steps climbed upward, splitting the middle, meeting a wall then climbing again to another level. Cushioned benches lined opposing walls, interrupted every few feet by doorways. Time was taken ambulating the first floor, looking for targets. Along the way, rooms were cleared, revealing nothing worth noticing. One by one, the spaces were entered, until none remained unobserved. Returning to where their search had begun, the group ascended the stairs directly in front of them.

The hazy glow of night vision made surroundings seem alien and green. Searches continued methodical and routine, activity staying normal, calm, and serene. Surprises were unlikely, but the team remained observant and keen. Again and again rooms were cleared, void of life but full of emptiness. Dead silence permeated the still, hot air, aflame with warning, creating an uncomfortable aura of impending danger.

Beads of sweat were the offspring of blazing tension, growing hotter and hotter with each passing second. All rooms had been cleared, all but a lone corridor, marked off by a set of gray metal doors. Beyond that threshold an enemy lurked, waiting to strike at any given moment. Where exactly the enemy chose to reside was a fact yet to be determined. Not knowing what lay ahead the team proceeded with caution.

Using the muzzles of their rifles, they pushed open the doors slightly alarmed by the ensuing squeak. When it became apparent that the corridor was empty, the team rushed in to establish a position. Collecting their bearings, they fanned out searching the rows of empty desks. Moonlight shown through the wide windows, shining off the steel of the rifles, casting a pale gray glow on the dusty floors. The atmosphere felt eerie as if an ominous spirit had suddenly descended upon them. Whether or not that was true was not their primary concern. They were searching for men, not ghosts. Up ahead, the SEALs took note of a glass plane stretching across the width of the room. The clouds had cleared revealing a massive expanse of starry skies. As they neared the glass, a large looming satellite dish came into view. Against the backdrop of a teeming Caribbean jungle, the large object seemed very out of place, much like a massive alien spaceship hovering above the earth. Cables from several towers supported the immense weight of the dish. Connecting each of the lofty support structure towers were several hundred feet of walkway, suspended high above the jungle bottom.

Ackerson took into account the location of each tower. He scanned the monstrous contraption for a possible place of entry. Looking on either side of the glass plane revealed two doorways, exiting out towards a platform that reached out to either one of the support structures. While his men provided cover, the lieutenant took time to confer with his Chief.

"Alright, looks like we should place demo charges at the base of each support structure. I'm not too comfortable with being exposed on those catwalks running around this thing." Ackerson whispered.

"I second that." Brigham agreed. "We should fast rope down to the jungle floor. I recommend the three elements we planned for earlier. Two teams placing explosives, while Silver stays at a set location and provide overwatch and sniper support."

"I like it." Ackerson nodded. "Gentlemen, on me."

The grease paint faced warriors gathered around their commander.

"Okay here's the situation. As planned, I'm dividing us into three teams. Two demo squads, and a sniper. Oliveira, Rios and Brigham are with me. Kaufman, you got Moore and Asher. Silver, you will provide overwatch and sniper support. Pick a good spot and warn us of any threats. Now, we'll be fast roping down from the adjacent catwalk left and out this doorway. Demo teams, we'll move as an element towards the overwatch and sniper spot. Please note this is the rally point, before we egress. As for the towers. Looks like a total of ten support structures, spread out 200 yards apart. Each squad will place a charge on each alternating tower, until all have an explosive placed on them. Once that is done, we gather back at the rally point, detonate the charges and begin the egress. Be on the look out for DE Special Forces. There's only eight of 'em but they're pretty damn good. No need to elaborate any further on the challenge we face. Any questions?"

"Hooyah!" Everyone whispered.

Ackerson took a brief moment to survey the horizon, after which he decided it was safe to move. With a quick nod the commander led his team into the fray yet again. Rushing out to the catwalk, the elite eight hastily lashed nylon cords to the metal railing. On either side of the walkway, four men furiously worked to secure the cords to their bodies. Seconds later they kicked off of the walkway, disappearing into the foggy depths below.

A few moments later several boots touched the ground, announced by a series of soft thuds. Staying true to a doctrine of speed and stealth they detached the cords, grabbed their rifles, and quickly back peddled towards thicker brush. Once the sailors found suitable cover, they waited. As nice as it would have been to finish the job in a few hours, these operators preferred to take as much time as they needed. Too many things could go wrong if they rushed this one. Acknowledging that fact, everyone hunkered down and got ready for the long haul.

Camouflage netting and first generation cloaking devices transformed the stoic sentries into transparent phantoms, disciplined stillness enhancing the illusion. To the naked eye they were simply just another part of the jungle. Invisibility sure had its share of benefits, but it also had its share of shortcomings too. Animals usually tended to stay away from visible threats, notably humans. But the cloaking technology was so effective it managed to fool nature. The resulting consequence was a plethora of night critters running right into Ackerson and his men. The sailors were used to having various kinds of creatures crawl all over them. It was a pain but they could handle it.

Then things started to get a little strange. From time to time, some of the sailors would notice their comrades were missing half a face, an arm, or even a leg. Of course no one was actually missing any limbs. Rather it was a side effect of the cloaking technology hiding certain parts of the body while revealing others. The effect was somewhat distracting but everyone was still on point. War could reveal much stranger things anyways.

The SEALs worked themselves into a feral trance attuned to every movement and every sound, like hunters tempered by the wild. But unlike the hunters brought up in the wild these were the deadliest kind, the kind that thought before they leapt. Whether they waited for a half hour, an hour, or two hours, they would stay put until told otherwise. Patience would see them through this. Then again, their enemy was thinking the very same thing.

---

Something about the darkness was peaceful, a soothing ambience of tranquil serenity. In still solitude, the jungle remained, a captured moment, suspended in time. Temptation was strong to let the mind wander, a desire to slip away in a dreamy slumber. Yet the beauty nocturnal was just a dream.

Hidden away and lonely, Silver could feel his body getting tired. Being the good warrior he was, he resisted the urge to close his eyes, while his mind and body screamed otherwise. Sleep would have been very comforting right about now. But in a moment like this, sleep just wasn't appropriate. His team was counting on him to deliver important information. If he took the luxury of a nap then his comrades would be in trouble.

A lot of responsibility rides in the hands of snipers. They have to make their shots count and usually, they only get one chance to do so. They have to remain silent and still for hours, sometimes, days at a time. These things and more, snipers have to do, all the while hoping they don't get spotted.

The simplest path to victory in this deadly contest was finding your enemy before he found you. For if you could see your enemy you could certainly kill him. But finding the adversary was half the battle. Once finding your target you had to steady your hands and control your breathing. Depending on how far away he was, you had to adjust the firing angle to compensate for distance, wind, and direction. When all three conditions were right then all you had to do was squeeze the trigger. Good snipers hope they make the shot. Superior snipers _know_ they will make the shot.

Silver strained his eyes, looking for something out of the ordinary. A boot, a piece of clothing, or a shining reflection, anything that did not belong here, the young sailor hoped to find. For if he could find those things, then his enemy was likely close by. Unfortunately the meandering darkness was making that task very difficult.

Then a pattern started to emerge. Taking nothing for granted but everything into account, Silver noticed some bushes moving around. For a few seconds they would rustle and for a few seconds they would stop. It could probably be a small mammal hunting for some prey. But instinct was telling Silver that it was something else, something smarter something deadlier. Briefly flexing his right index finger he took a deep breath and began the process of controlled breathing. _Where are you buddy, where are you?_ His crosshairs focused on the source of the movement once more. The pattern remained the same. A few seconds of movement and a few seconds of stillness.

More than sure that a human being, not an animal, was moving around those bushes, Silver backed away from the scope to get a better look with binoculars. Then, as quickly as the movement began it came to a sudden halt. Going back into his training, he knew stopping meant two things. Either an enemy had just spotted you or your enemy felt you had just spotted him. Neither result was favorable adding to Silver's already heightened sense of urgency.

"Hey!" A voice suddenly hissed.

In a brief panic Silver reached for his pistol only to have his arm stepped on. Reacting he turned over and tried to grab hold of a leg that was sure to be not too far behind. But his arms simply flailed around in darkness. Then he growled in a quick burst of pain as an electric shock jolted his body. Once the pain subsided, Silver lay on his back cursing to himself. Someone had obviously gotten him. As he regained focus he noticed a dark figure in grease paint standing over him.

"Better luck next time Silver." The sailor whispered.

In disgust Silver flipped his fellow SEAL the bird, eliciting a grin and a pat on the head. As the sailor faded into the jungle Silver noticed a sniper, the one who had gotten him, waving. Taking the defeat in good spirit Silver laughed a bit. _Play dead boy, play dead_.

--

Kaufman tried to ring Silver up on the radio, but only got static. Maybe he couldn't talk because he found a target, maybe he couldn't talk because someone was walking close to him, or maybe he couldn't talk because he got dropped. Reluctantly, Kaufman chose the third outcome. Trading unfavorable looks with his teammates he beckoned them to move along as planned. Visual intelligence was gone but the show still had to go on.

The small team had already rigged two support towers with explosives. Now they were on their way to a third, proceeding cautiously through the Puerto Rican jungle. Thus far, the three had not encountered any resistance. But just because no one had shot at them, did not mean they were not being followed. Not wishing to be caught with their pants down, they continued along their path, stopping every so often to observe their surroundings.

Traversing the jungle was quite the challenge for them. Trying to move in this kind a nature was like swimming in mud, and in a few instances, they were knee deep in it. Thick hanging leaves and vines swung around their eyes obstructing view. Snakes were also a problem, causing the young sailors to stop for a moment to make sure they were not poisonous. Fortunately for them, a poisonous serpent had yet to cross their path.

But poisonous snakes were the least of their worries. It felt a bit strange to not have been engaged this far into the mission. That was somewhat of a relief since these men weren't particularly fond of firefights. But that was also a source of their concern. They knew their adversaries were elite and to some degree, very aggressive as well. That caused them to assume that they would have been engaged by now. But the reality was that they had not. The realization gave Kaufman a sickening feeling that they were being stalked, a feeling that had put him and his comrades a little on edge.

Clouds outlined by silver lined the thick black sky. Even though these warriors were searching for an enemy, they could not help but notice the beauty of the night. Great as the view was, the three of them had more important things to do than stare at the heavens. With the support structure towering in the distance, Kaufman and his comrades focused their attention back to the mission.

Cutting across the sky, was one of the many catwalks, which connected each of the support towers. Walking through the brush, they regarded the metal walkway for any enemies. They expected none since the silhouette of a human being would have been quite visible from below. But, as always, things did not go as planned.

Kaufman suddenly noticed a shimmering dark figure rappelling from the catwalk. He thought it was rather stupid for his enemy to be out in the open like that, but he didn't care. Any chance to get an upper hand on the enemy was taken with pleasure. Kaufman raised his rifle towards the descending adversary and fired two three-round bursts. _Alright buddy, we got you. Time to play dead_. But the fellow SEAL refused to raise his hands. Confused, Kaufman led his teammates closer towards the stubborn opponent. As they approached the sailor started to become clear.

"Son of a bitch!" Kaufman hissed. "It's a god damned Kevlar vest."

Before Kaufman could utter another word, he watched Asher drop to the ground and shake wildly from a brief electric shock. Moore and Kaufman reacted by firing blindly into the deeper jungle with hopes of flushing out the enemy. But two well-placed shots from the dark silenced both sailors. Dropping to the ground, they watched in envy as their role-playing enemies darted from the brush.

"Nice job Jake." Asher teased. "You just killed my imaginary friend."

Kaufman chuckled. "Sorry, he shouldn't have pulled that neat little rappelling trick."

"Yeah I'm with Jake on that one Ahmed." Moore laughed. "You should've told him not to scare us like that."

"Oh, well." Asher sighed. "Sorry Gus. Hate to see you go."

"His name is Gus?" Kaufman giggled.

"What the hell else would you want me to name him?" Asher asked. "Steve?"

"Yeah." Kaufman still laughed. "Steve sounds more appropriate."

"Okay then." Asher groaned. "I'll try and find an imaginary friend named Steve next time. Happy now?"

"Why yes Ahmed." Pausing for dramatic effect. "I am."

"Jesus Christ you two are nuts." Moore chuckled.

"Maybe, Jase, maybe." Kaufman admitted. "But I think we better play dead now. Don't want anyone saying we cheated."

"Yeah, 'cause we'd never hear the end of it."

--

Someone once told Carl that during his time in the SEALs, he would experience times when even the best laid plans would go to hell, and now just happened to be one of those moments. Half his team was gone, leaving himself, Brigham, Rios, and Oliveira. This may have only been a training exercise, but Ackerson always treated them like they were the real things. In his mind, four of his men, were not playing dead, they actually _were_ dead. Ackerson had lost men in training before, but he always took it really hard.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Ackerson continued with the mission as planned, regardless of casualties. Winning was very unlikely at this point, but SEALs did not concentrate on that. They were a group of warriors that believed in accomplishing as much as the mission as possible, at all costs. Go hard or go home was all these commandos had ever known.

Acknowledging the fact they'd be facing a fully functioning eight-man fireteam, Ackerson ordered his men prone, preferring to crawl towards the next destination. Hopefully that would decrease the likelihood of being seen. But Ackerson was unsure as to how effective that technique would be. Silver, the stealthiest man in the squad had been caught. That being the case, he wondered if his chances were any better. Ackerson knew that Silver could have been spotted by sheer luck in one of those point zero nine percent chances, or however small the probability of such an instance occurring was. But something was telling him otherwise. Whether or not that was true was beside the point. Ackerson just wished he planned things better.

Now it was time to put regrets aside. Going down fighting was not how most missions were supposed to end. In all respects though, Ackerson had a gut feeling that that was how this mission was going to play out. Training always provided the troops another chance to get things right. But Ackerson was one of those men who wanted to get things right the first time. Combat offered no second chances. Thus the added pressure in training made sure neither he nor his men had to hope for a second chance on the battlefield. Such expectations may have been close to impossible. But just because you could not obtain perfection, did not mean you had to give up trying.

Their pace was a sluggish process of crawling a few yards, stopping to look around, and continuing the same process over again. At this rate, Ackerson and his men would be out here until noon. That may have been unfavorable. But no matter how long the mission was going to take, Ackerson would keep moving until the exercise was officially brought to a close. He hadn't been in corner like this for a long time. Elite as he was, even he had to concede defeat sometimes.

After forty minutes of uneventful crawling the sailors found themselves at the foot of yet another support tower. Carefully browsing the surrounding vicinity, the young sailors made sure that no one was watching them. Once it became evident that the area was clear of enemies, the sailors rose to a kneeling position and began to place yet another set of explosives. Brigham moved towards the wide gray tower and began going through the bag of fake C-4. The others provided cover while Brigham worked on placing the explosives.

Ackerson took a moment to look up, lest his enemies got any more bright ideas. Amongst the canopy of jungle leaves, Ackerson searched for anything out of the ordinary. Then he turned his attention to the top of the support tower to look for some sort of oddity. Just as he was about to look away, a quick sparkle caught his eye. Reacting, he swung his rifle towards it. With his crosshairs focus directly on the light source, he struggled to see what it was. The sparkles faded in and out of darkness and for a moment it looked like the rustling leaves of the canopy were obscuring a star. But a brief glimpse of a human outline gave Ackerson a sick feeling.

"LOOK OUT!" Ackerson yelled.

Gunfire erupted from the jungle canopy, as Ackerson and his team dashed for cover. Shell casings of blank rounds rained all around them as they desperately searched for their enemies.

"WH…." Oliveira went down first.

"I GOT…" Rios fell but not before getting one of his adversaries.

Ackerson, after seeing two of his men collapse, darted deeper into the jungle brush. Meeting up with Brigham he searched for any flashes of gunfire, that had for some unexpected reason, vanished. But Ackerson was no fool. He knew his enemy was somewhere and obviously searching for him. While he was quite angry at the turn of events, Ackerson had to commend his fellow warriors on the inverted rappelling takedown. Admirations however, could wait.

Ackerson and Brigham now had to communicate via hand signals. Almost never did a chance such as this result after a firefight. But none of these embattled warriors really cared. They were just happy they could meet their enemy on equal footing, since neither side could see each other. Despite a lopsided ratio of operators Ackerson was going to find at least one more operator. But a silenced round from the dark changed all that.

"MUTHA…" Brigham's body flopped towards the ground.

Ackerson reached for a grenade prepared to drop it where he stood. He figured this was last thing he could do before he went down. Hopefully it would take a few people with him. If only he could have reached the pin first. Raging with anger, the lieutenant let the brief painful shock flow through his limbs without uttering a sound. He had failed, himself and his team. Dying really sucked. But dying after your men perished was more painful than a gunshot wound.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Melancholy**

Ackerson now felt like he had a unique solidarity with NFL quarterbacks, the ones that wake up the morning after an abysmal game only to discover that their bodies are screaming with pain and they lost a game. While pain certainly isn't any fun, it hurts worse we you've suffered a loss. In Ackerson's case his loss made him feel not so much like a Monday Morning-Quarterback, but rather more like a Monday Morning SEAL.

As for the rest of his team, they were in somewhat better spirits. Even though they had lost, they were not going to lose sleep over it, literally. Everyone, except Ackerson was snoring loudly aboard the helicopter. Apparently, the monotonous thumping of the rotor blades was a therapeutic noise proven to induce drowsiness among many a weary warrior. But Ackerson must have been an anomaly. He was awake recounting the memories of failure, a failure that he placed solely on his shoulders.

Staring out across the sky towards the dawn sun, Ackerson vented. Inside he screamed with rage, cursing himself with insults. On the surface he was calm, yet distraught and distant. Others would have told him not to be so hard on himself and to see the loss as a chance to learn. But no matter how hard Ackerson tried, he couldn't quite forgive himself for losing to Meretti. A challenge, the two sailors had accepted, a challenge that Ackerson failed to win. By all means, Meretti should have lost. That was the way things should have worked out but they didn't. For that, Ackerson desperately wished he had just walked away from Meretti.

The sickness of losing burrowed into his soul, like a splinter stuck in the skin. Taking a moment to ponder his actions over the last couple of days, it suddenly occurred to Ackerson that his vendetta with Meretti was a stupid and selfish gamble that cost his team the coveted prize of victory. Ackerson told himself to keep emotion out of the picture and be professional. But he wasn't going to lie; the thought of beating Meretti was always in the back of his mind. He wanted to win, not to support his team, but to prove something to himself. But the SEALs were not a group of warriors that prided themselves on individual victories. Teamwork was paramount, personal accomplishments were not.

Careful thinking finally revealed to Ackerson that in the grand scheme of things he had not lost much at all. His professional reputation may have been tainted to some degree, but everyone made mistakes, even in this business. If anything, Ackerson had actually learned something from his mistake. Being elite requires one to rise above the normal and the expected. Meretti expected him to react negatively to harsh words and a negative reaction was what he got. Those people who are predictable always react as they are expected to. They can be labeled, they can be manipulated, and they can be beaten. Ackerson received a lesson on such things once, but he sure as hell wasn't going to learn that lesson again.

Forward was the only direction for Ackerson to look in now. Training was over and now it was time to concentrate on the important things. The real threat was not Meretti, but instead an army of soldiers bent on controlling a helpless nation. Ackerson finally believed he was starting to get some perspective back. Now was the moment to really be professional and then some. Thoughts of failure, anger, distrust and doubt would have to be extinguished in order for the mission to be successful. Looking around the dark cabin of the helicopter Ackerson wondered if his men were thinking about their roles in the mission. He felt like asking them, but then reneged when he realized they would need as much sleep as they could get. Ackerson figured he'd get to talk to them about such things later. Satisfied, he closed his eyes for a fifteen-minute catnap. That kind of sleep may not have been the most refreshing of slumbers, but in these times, Ackerson was going to take as much sleep as he could get.

* * *

If the AAR had not been draining enough, then the somber melancholic mood was certainly doing the trick. This was the moment in which they said goodbye to loved ones and significant others. They could not tell them where they were going or when they'd be back. All they could do was try their hardest not to let those they loved hear their frailty. Warriors were always supposed to be strong and brave. But humanity was a quality they could not shed. Emotion affected them just as much as it affected anyone else. Sadness, anger, love, hate; they experienced it all. Stoic as these souls may have been, they were still human beings nonetheless. 

Hearing the voices of their families was comforting yet depressing at the same time. It felt good to talk to familiar folks once again, exchanging jokes, catching up on old times, and just getting a feel for how life was back at home. But the joy soon subsided when the sailors realized that the conversations could not go on forever. There would come a time when they would have to hang up the phone and put on their game face. In that moment they could no longer be preoccupied with their families, which by no means, were worthless. The mission just so happened to be more important than peoples' families. That was the sacrifice they made, putting their lives on hold, to do what they were trained to do. Fight.

Acceptance was hard to swallow. As tough as these men were, they sometimes got tired of the pain, tired of the training, and tired of the fighting. There was only so much they could take and while they only took a moment to dwell on sorrow, they still wished they could find some solace from the hardships they accepted to become the warriors they were. A voice told them they had a right to relax, a right to escape their monotonous routine. But another voice told them they could not, a voice that told them to suck it up. In the words of D.H. Lawrence _I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A little bird will fall dead, frozen from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for itself_.

Bidding goodbye to their families was awfully difficult. But these warriors had not forgotten about the family in the team, a brotherhood that had been forged in time, a bond that would be toughened by the flames of war. Though they never spoke of such things to one another, they were surely implied. None of them needed to be reminded that they were in the fight together and as long as they were on the same team, it was going to stay that way.

Eyes spoke to eyes, asking a question of readiness, answering with confidence. There was no need to exchange words at this point. Just by observing a simple gaze, these sailors were reassured. Every doubt and every concern was now effectively extinguished by a simple exchange of looks. Whatever circumstances due to befall them would be dealt with accordingly. Regardless of how daunting or how hard, these men were ready to face the challenges head on. Now could not have been a more perfect moment for a pep talk.

"Gentlemen." Moggs announced walking into the room. "Hate to barge in on the somber mood here. But you all know very well that we don't sit around moping about things. This sucks, I'm not going to lie to you. But this is our life."

"I know you're ready and I'm glad to see you that your boys aren't sitting around feeling sorry for yourselves. More than anything I want to commend you all for keeping your heads on and not bitching and whining about what you gotta do. But I'm not going to bullshit you guys either. It's been a tough road to get to this point. We haven't slept well, we've been hurting, bleeding in some instances and that's just from the training. It's understandable that your irritated, but you're not special. I've felt the same way as you guys have and I know exactly what its like. I envy you gentlemen for going into battle since I see myself about twenty years my younger." The sailors had a light laugh at that.

"As your BUD/S instructors reminded each of you so many years ago, it only gets harder from here on out. Training was hard, but the real thing will be harder. You gentlemen have inherited a mission unlike any other, one, that I have to say none of the Teams have ever experienced. You are not fighting a rag-tag insurgent army, you are not fighting terrorists blindly guided by ideology, and you are not fighting a poorly trained army. You are fighting the toughest armed force the world has ever seen, and I say that in no small measure. They kill, it is their job. They are soldiers in every since of the word. They do not smile, they do not brag, and they do not hesitate. Emotion does not guide them. Skill and orders do. If anything, you all are looking yourselves in the mirror. This adversary exercises the same discipline as you, the skills as you, and exercise the same caution and attention to detail required to survive on the battlefield. While in no way belittling the service and sacrifice of those teams in past, I must reiterate that you are not fighting the NVA, the Iraqi Republican Guard, FARC, Al Qaeda, or Abu Sayaff. You will be engaging an enemy that supercedes the threats and strengths of our past enemies. The technology of this group even surpasses the kind that we possess."

"You are the men that are up to the challenge. There is not a single doubt in my mind that you will succeed and overcome. I am counting on you as much as you are counting on each other. But let me remind you, that you are _truly_ fighting for this country and the helpless. Everyone is endangered by the enemy. Usually I stay away from the supposed ideology of the job, but people are really counting on you. While you may never meet those that benefit from your actions, you should feel honored to fight for them. Most of them will not know what you did and most of them will probably never thank you. But you are the silent heroes. You do not fight for recognition, but you do fight for what's right. Following orders is traditionally what guides us in our work. I am not asking you to dwell on this, but I just want you to know, that your sacrifice to participate in an operation of this caliber, perfectly embodies the noble quality of your souls."

"We will be boarding the sub at zero-four-thirty tomorrow morning after which we will be heading directly towards the hornets' nest. You will probably not see this place again for another couple of months. This mission will take time and it will sure as hell try your patience. I am assured that you gentlemen understand this, so I will no longer expound upon that. You are ready and you will win gentlemen." Moggs paused briefly to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

"Good luck gentlemen. That is all."

And with those closing words these warriors were ready to rock.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Submerged**

Aboard an industrial elevator the team descended the depths of a massive man-made cavern. Revealed to them was a large expanse of space lit only many rows of fluorescent lights. Hundreds of sailors milled around a submarine, like ants surrounding an anthill. The view was quite amazing, putting the sailors in awe at the immense size of such a facility.

"So this is where they keep the Chupacabra." Moore said.

"Really?" Kaufman sounded surprised. "'Cause I always wondered what hole you crawl back home to at night."

Moore grinned and scratched his nose with his middle finger, getting casual laughs from his teammates. After a three-minute ride down, the sailors emerged from the elevator.

"Welcome to the Batcave gentlemen." Moggs greeted them.

"Thanks Alfred." Ackerson smiled. "This the Batmobile?" He nodded towards the submarine.

"Only if you use your imagination?" Moggs laughed. "By the way? How'd you boys sleep?"

"Just fine." Brigham answered. "How about you Chief? 'Cause you look like shit."

Moggs laughed. "Appreciate the compliment Bill. But at least I'm not the one kissing Batman's ass."

Laughter erupted from the group. "Batman and Robin sittin' in the tree. K I S S I…" Rios teased.

"Don't even think about finishing that word Petty Officer." Brigham managed, red with embarrassment. "One guy makes fun of me and the whole damn world does."

"Anything else Bill?" Moggs grinned.

"Whada you think?" Brigham retorted.

"What's a matter, Chief?" Ackerson asked. "Can't take a joke?"

Brigham gave Ackerson a funny stare. "NO!"

"Looks like Boy Wonder needs a time out." Asher smirked.

Brigham lunged towards him, playfully grabbing his teammate by the neck and messing up his hair. "Who wants some?" Laughing loudly.

"Great." Moggs threw his hands up. "Now the fate of the free world rest in the hands of a bunch of three year olds."

"Oh ye of little faith." Silver patted Moggs on the back. "Relax Chief, we'll be back before dinner."

"Well hey, as long as the "new guy" keeps giving me reassuring advise, I think I'll be fine. Unlike the rest of you guys."

"Can't see how you can take him seriously, especially if his last name is silver." Oliveira winked.

"Oh c'mon Emilio, there's plenty of people that have colors for last names. White, Black, Green, Brown, Blue." Silver defended his answer.

"Blue?" Moore chuckled. "You kidding me right?"

"No shit." Silver replied. "I went to elementary school with a guy who had that last name."

"O K Fellas?" Moggs yelled. "Can we continue?" Turning to Ackerson "Carl, keep these boys on a leash."

"Aye aye." Chuckling with a light salute.

"Good. Now lets get on this boat before it runs out of gas." Moggs motioned everyone towards the submarine.

"How the hell's a nuclear sub gonna run outta gas?" Kaufman grumbled lugging his bag up the ramp leading to the conning tower.

"I heard that smart ass." Moggs nudged the sailor along. "The hell is with these guys today?"

"Just anxious to get this thing done." Ackerson replied. "But hey, like you said, time to get on this boat before it runs outta gas." He grinned.

"Got anything else constructive to say?" Scratching his temple.

"Ladies first?"

Moggs shook his head, chuckling. "Just get on the damn boat."

The rest of the team climbed the conning tower. As they entered they gradually made way to their quarters, bumping in to the occasional sailor in the narrow hallways.

"Why is it that I got the theme song from Crimson Tide playing in my head?" Rios asked.

"You mean that movie where the two guys on the submarine can't decide on launching a nuclear weapon?" Moore asked.

"Yes sir, that's the one." Rios replied.

"Well, can you press pause on that song in your head, 'cause I'm not looking forward to some crazy captains running this thing."

"Its just a movie Jason." Brigham sighed. "Relax."

"I don't care Chief. As long as I'm on this ship I don't plan on Rios here jinxing anything."

"Jesus Moore." Oliveira moaned. "You're so damn superstitious."

"Yeah Jase." Kaufman patted Moore on the shoulder. "And I hate to break it to you, but Santa Claus ain't real."

"God dammit!" Moore played along. "Now you just ruined my Christmas."

"Well damn." Asher said. "If your panties are all in a bunch over Santa Claus, I'd hate to see what you'd do if someone joked about the Easter Bunny."

"Baaawww! Thanks Eee-suh Bunnn-ee." Silver chided, launching the team into hysterics.

"You know what?" Moore struggled to yell over the laughing. "You guys are nothing but a bunch of dicks."

"So what does that make you?" Rios laughed. "An asshole?"

The laughter became even louder forcing Moore to just stop talking. Eventually, the humor died down as the sailors entered their quarters.

"Dibs on the top bunk." Kaufman announced throwing his bag on a mattress.

"Who made you the landlord?" Ackerson asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No one." Hopping onto the top bunk. "I just don't wanna have the residue from Rios' midnight fantasies dropping down on me."

"Oh yeah, you mean the fantasies about your sis, right?" Rios winked. "Tell her she's got some nice pics for me will ya."

"Yeah Jake, she's hot." Silver added. "Ain't that right fellas?"

The sailors nodded in agreement. "Last I saw her was at um." Moore acted like he was thinking. "At um. That's it, Rios' hot sister dot com. Great site."

"Mis juevos." Rios replied almost nonchalantly.

"Don't need to hear the Nicaraguan slang for a man's privates, sailor." Ackerson laughed.

"Whadaya mean sir?" Rios asked with a lying smile beaming across his face. " I just said _my eggs_." Grabbing his crotch.

"Jesus Christ, you're sick."

"TEN HUT!" A voice suddenly called at the entrance of the small room.

Startled by the voice, everyone suddenly snapped to attention, offering crisp salutes to a ranking officer.

"At ease gentlemen." The captain returned the salutes. "I'm Captain Matthew Regan, like to welcome you aboard the USS Jimmy Carter. Hope you like the accommodations. Now, I would love to stay and chat, but I have other things I have to attend to. Make yourselves at home gentlemen."

""Scuse me sir. But would the mess happen to be open by any chance?" Kaufman asked, while Ackerson laughed and shook his head.

"Sorry Petty Officer, not quite, but I think the chef's may be there. They may have something to slip you under the table. Anything else?"

"No sir, that'll be all." Ackerson spoke up, thanking the Captain with a firm handshake.

"Alright then." Regan smiled. "See you guys later." Disappearing around the corner.

"Can't wait for breakfast, Jake?" Ackerson asked.

"Nope." Hopping off the bunk. "Hungry as hell. You guys want me to see what I can scavenge for you guys?"

"Some waters would be nice." Asher spoke up.

"That it?"

The others simply mouthed "no thank you".

"Okay boys, see ya in a few."

Everyone got back to getting squared away, while Ackerson took a quick look around the room. Two rows of florescent lights graced the ceiling while a row of bunks lined opposite navy blue walls. A few metal draws sat in the corners, where gear could be stashed.

"Home sweet home for a couple of days huh?" Ackerson folded his arms

"Guess so." Brigham added. "Think Meretti and them got better rooms?" Asking with a wry smile.

"I hope not." Ackerson grinned.

Brigham grimaced briefly. "I should've known. Oh well, what now?"

"Get our stuff together and I guess wait around for nothing."

"Ain't that a rarirty."

"Sure is." Scratching his head.

A young sailor suddenly entered the doorway saluting. "Lieutenant Ackerson, sir?"

"Yeah that's me." Ackerson dutifully returned the respects. "What can I do for you?"

"A Senior Chief Moggs asked me to give you this." Handing him piece of paper. "Says it's your schedule for today."

"Thanks Seaman." Ackerson said dismissing the young man.

Brigham peeped over Ackerson's shoulder. "Looks like someone spoke too soon."

Ackerson clicked his teeth. "Yup. But what the hell ya gonna do?" Looking the list up and down. "Well time to get started. Okay, gentlemen!…"

* * *

Puerto Rico was now twelve hours behind them, a pressing reminder that the fight of their lives was knocking at their doorstep. In a few days, they would be at war, boots treading a foreign shore. Intensity and danger, they would know them intimately, ever so real and ever so deadly. 

Cigarette smoke drenched the dark room swirling in the feint, dim light. Humming computers and large glowing screens emanated and aura of business and order. Sailors sat back in their chairs flipping through papers and photographs in tan folders labeled TOP SECRET. Seriousness was the now, obvious from the silence permeating across the room. Jokes and complaints would not be tolerated. But no one needed to remind these warriors. They knew what time it was.

The opening of a watertight door suddenly interrupted the hushed tone in the room as an entourage of officers and support staff entered. After salutes were exchanged everyone took their seats and turned their gaze to the podium at the front of the room.

"Good evening gentlemen." Moggs said making his way through the crowd. "For those of you that haven't met me I am Senior Chief Petty Officer Terrell Moggs, NCO commander of SEAL Team 4, Gold Platoon. It is a pleasure to be working with you and I look forward to nothing but success. I know it would be great for everyone to introduce themselves, but I'm afraid introductions will have to wait. Everyone in this room knows that time is of the essence. No need to reiterate that. So without further hesitation, let's get started."

"Most of you have already had the chance, to browse over the information tucked away in the folders on your seats. If you could, for a brief moment, please take out your schedule for today's brief. I'd like to go over it." Pausing to retrieve his copy. "At the top of the page you will notice the alphanumeric acronym BRF-P1, which stands for Brief, Phase One. This will be the designation for the remaining three briefing phases we will have and will progress through phases one to four. Each phase will cover certain aspects of the mission, such as enemy intelligence, which happens to be today's focus. Please be aware, the four briefing phases are to be considered separate the briefing immediately preceding the actual execution of the operation, bringing us to an actual total of five briefings. The briefings preceding the fifth and final one are simply for preparation, so please keep that in mind."

"Further down on your schedule you will notice the breakdown of today's briefing focus. Several people will be speaking today, some of them the standard support staff from the Team and others from OGAs, CIA, NSA, and the like. First up is Mr. John Madsen, CIA field officer, who has been tracking Defense Enterprises for the last five years. Mr. Madsen."

An imposing figure with a shaved head walked to the front, dressed in a submariner's uniform.

"Thank you Senior Chief." Madsen said. "Good evening everyone. I'm John Madsen and it is my job to begin the analysis of your enemy." Briefly eyeing the warriors. "Lieutenant if you could please bring up the presentation, thank you."

On one of the large screens behind Madsen a powerpoint presentation appeared.

"Most of you have some sort of understanding about this group, either from the news or intelligence information gathered from the folks over at Langley. I'll go over a brief history of the company before I speak about the leader of the group."

"Defense Enterprises, founded in 1995 by former KSK operator Hans Farber. The company built its reputation by assisting, first hand, many western nations, including the United States among others in conflicts abroad. Due to its growing reputation, DE eventually bought out several of the world's leading arms producers. By 2005, it had created a monopoly in armed manpower, technology, and weaponry. Other PMCs managed to exist, but their strength and ability to sell products and procure contracts was dwindling. Simply put, the overwhelming presence of DE, all over the world, pushed most PMCs into bankruptcy. But things really started to get ugly when some desperate corporate entities decided on war to bolster their chances of gaining a profit. Soon, other companies caught on to the trend and bargained with those nations that had the highest propensity to engage in conflict. In due time, as most of you already know, most of the contracts were in West Africa, and just by happenstance, PMCs fought against each other, vying for a chance to compete with DE. But the attempts were abysmal and each company was devastated or fell into debt. Defense Enterprises managed to steer clear of the warfare instead opting to let the animals wipe themselves out. That smart economic decision allowed DE to be on good terms with the UN. As a matter of fact the UN went so far as to ask the company to assist in restoration efforts in West Africa following the Corporate Wars. But Defense Enterprises gladly declined, stating that it wanted to devote more time to developing better military technology."

"Then came 2025, the situation in Brazil. We all know about the devastating civil war and how the world watched in horror at the destruction. You may also recall how the UN asked Defense Enterprises for help once the dust settled. The company took up the responsibility this time, and for a few years it seemed like everything was going well. But that all changed when the UN asked Defense Enterprises to turn over control and the company vehemently opposed the possibility of changing hands. Several western nations tried to respond but everybody remembers how that turned out."

"Currently and for the last six years, the company has been run by a former Green Beret, Riley Melencampe. Every one of us here remembers him as the gentleman who led an eight-man team on a daring operation to capture Osama Bin-Laden, which was miraculously successful. He is one sharp soldier and knows the Special Forces business in and out. The country praised him and loved him, but apparently that just wasn't enough. Melencampe was grateful, or so it seemed, but he was constantly angered by the plight of the modern soldier due to military downsizing. He took over Defense Enterprises with the hopes of offering these disenfranchised soldiers with a place that would essentially respect the dignity of their labor, which was being a warfighter."

"Now I'll play a short clip of Melencampe responding shortly after the failed attempt of NATO forces to forcibly remove DE from Brazil." Madsen said as he changed slides to a video.

A figure dressed in jungle camouflage appeared. He was standing behind a table, looking intently into the camera. His hair was slightly graying but kept neat and tight, echoing his past as a soldier in the United States Army. His face was void of emotion, not angry, but certainly not happy either.

_"Soldiers are not what they once were."_ Melencampe began. _"They live in a world where they are pawns, used as cannon fodder, and looked at only as objects that are manipulated to foster the maintenance of various foreign policies. Their bravery and their sacrifices have simply been taken for granted by the oblivious greedy masses covering the globe. These masses are the ungrateful bastards that forget about what we stand for. They are the politicians who can send young men to die, without a care in the world."_

_"Enough I say. I have seen the evils of military downsizing. I have heard the grievances of the warrior. No longer will we rot away in the misery of tragedy. We will instead forge our names in the book of men, who gloriously defeated the powers that be. Our voices have been suppressed for far too long. Now it is our opportunity to show the world, just what their ignorance and greed have cost them. For we have lost much for the sake of their freedom. The time has come for that equation to change. It will no longer be us, the soldiers, the warriors, who will make the sacrifices, it will be you. You have held on to freedom for so long, wasting it away and tarnishing it with selfishness. Those of us who have actually fought for something deserve the rewards of free society, for it was we who gave our lives for the countries we once loved. We have been betrayed and likewise, we betray you."_

_"The rest of the world ignores and wishes to suppress the soldier even further. Your concerted attempts to wrest control of this new land from our hands is proof of your greed. Why do you continuously insist on not recognizing the sacrifices we have made? If only you respected us much more, things may not have turned out this way."_

_"For the soldiers still serving under the flags of nations, I warn you not to be deceived by the governments who send you to die. They do not care about you and will not even care to acknowledge your skills and sacrifices. Some of you may even consider me a traitor and you are entitled to your opinions. But this is the only way for the soldier to go, the only way for a soldier to be respected and remembered. Please, I ask every soldier, who does not yet believe, to be wary of engaging us in conflict. Though it saddens me that I will likely have to engage former comrades and former brothers in battle, I am ready to purge them for the sake of getting our message across. Do not take this personally gentlemen, I respect you as individuals and as men. But those of you that are misguided will unfortunately have to suffer. You have a choice to fight us or not to fight us. I hope some of you choose correctly."_ The tape faded to black.

"Melencampe truly takes his words to heart gentlemen." Madsen said. "He will not bluff and he will strike when given the chance. By his rhetoric we know he is planning something, but due to the company's clever ability to scramble our satellite imagery we have been unable to actually see what they have in store for us. We do however, has several photos and important pieces of information regarding all sorts of things, from operations to the equipment of individual soldiers. We received this information from a defecting Defense Enterprises contract soldier. I however, will not be discussing that. It seems that your support staff will take over for that portion. Thank you for your time gentlemen." Smiling briefly and taking a seat.

"Thank you Mr. Madsen." Moggs thanked. "Now we will speak about the soldiers you will be fighting. Captain Wayne Grayson will take over for that portion of the presentation. Captain?"

"Thank you Senior Chief." The intelligence officer said. "Gentlemen, as Mr. Madsen alluded to, we have received information regarding the grunts, the soldiers if you will. According to the company's chain of command the soldiers are divided into two groups. First group is designated as the S-Group, S denoting standard, those soldiers who are considered conventional infantry."

A photo of a soldier appeared on the screen.

"As you all can see he wears the new PASGT-5 helmet, with integrated radio and NV. His tactical vest is much the same as the ones you guys use. Most often they can be seen carrying M-8s or G-36s, of course using the numerous combinations associated with each weapon. Basically, everything about these guys are almost exactly like any Marine or any Soldier back at home. These boys are elite as well and are a bit more disciplined and aggressive than your standard conventional soldier. But these guys are nothing you gentlemen can't handle, just so long as you taken them seriously."

"The second group and the most elite, is the U-Group, the letter U representing unconventional." Grayson said as a new photo appeared.

"These fellas mirror you and then some. They carry NVGs and thermal and not to mention the optical camouflage. Most often they carry around the SCAR, their modified version, which can, according to what our defecting friend told us, counter our invisible camouflage. Fortunately, due to some, stolen goods, we have managed to create a not as effective version of detecting the optical camo. But at least it still works. Back to these guys, you can see that they are fully loaded and ready to go. They all come from various Special Forces, such as GSG-9, SAS, SBS, SASR, Delta Force, Force Recon, Green Berets, Sayaret Mat'Kal, even some of your former sailor brethren."

"These men will not hesitate to kill you and they _are_ your equals in every sense of the word. Most often times they are seen engaging remaining elements of Brazilian resistance and are on standby incase we show up. These men will be expecting you. Fortunately, they don't know how or when you'll arrive, which probably, is our only real advantage over them. You may not have to face them through the majority of your mission. But I can assure you that elements of them will be around Itumbiara, most of them concentrated around the dam."

"You do not want to meet these guys head on, either the S or U groups. I do not doubt for a second you guys are just as good. But once you're in the lions' den, it's just you and the lions. If you make contact, it is best advised you break it as soon as possible. You may be able to kill a good deal of 'em, but it won't be long before sheer numbers overwhelm you. Fighting against many soldiers is one thing, but fighting against many _elite_ soldiers is a recipe for disaster. You'll learn more about these fellas' tactics later. But for now I turn this over to Captain Michael Wilkins, who will go over the lay of the land for you guys. Captain?"

The marine made his way to the front and began going through various maps. Ackerson continued paying attention, but kept his mind focused on another thing as well. He now truly understood what he was up against. This really was going to be the fight of his' life, that one battle that his instructors said that every SEAL lived for. But the battle was not his alone. It was his team's battle as well. They were probably feeling just as pressured if not more so, to succeed.

Then it gradually started to become apparent, apparent that they may not have been coming back from this operation, alive. Men had been lost fighting against adversaries who were nowhere near as skilled as the ones Ackerson and his team were currently pitted against. So losing life was a very real reality indeed. Ackerson believed it would take a miracle for his team to get back in one piece. Winning the battle was unquestionable. Carl had enough faith in his training. But he was not oblivious to the fact that bad things did happen on the battlefield regardless of how well trained a warrior may have been.

Ackerson took a brief look at his team and wondered if the prospect of death weighed heavy on their minds. The serious look on their faces made it seem like not much was on their minds. But Carl knew better. Of course something was on their minds. It probably would have been best to talk to his men about this mission in an informal setting to gauge how they felt. He knew had no qualms about participating. As a leader he just wanted to make sure his team was fully focused and ready to go. Death was scary, but completing the mission was more important. And with that thought Ackerson began circling portions of the map in his tan folder.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**Deep**

Whereas most people would simply spend their free time relaxing, these warriors preferred to engage in rigorous exercise. Being idle in the Teams was considered a cardinal sin by many of the organization's operators. Fighting, training, or planning, there was always something to be done. Staying in motion was a means of staying on their toes. In staying on their toes, they were always prepared, ready to go on a moment's notice and it was preparation that allowed them to survive and succeed.

Hoping to maintain their impeccable record of survival and success, Ackerson and his teammates were hard at work, tuning their bodies. Combat may not have been a sport, but the stress involved put the body through physical hell. Exercise enabled them to withstand the torture and perform under conditions of extreme duress. Learning to fight was one thing, but learning to fight when the body wanted to quit was a completely different battle all its own.

A few decided on bench presses while other preferred to spend some time on the treadmills. Each man had a particular set of strengths, which ranged from running fast, to being able to carry the heaviest loads. But along with strengths there were also weaknesses, which these warriors preferred to call developments. Weakness was too negative of a word for them. Development was an utterance that better suited their positive attitudes. Instead, they looked at their weaknesses as things that could be improved upon, development being the word that embodied this positive outlook.

Beyond the scope of staying in shape, exercise also provided the warriors an opportunity to gather as a group, and discuss pressing concerns. One of those pressing concerns dealt with fighting against a former warrior and a former brother. Despite the differences between Army and Navy and other branches of the military, all Special Forces warriors considered themselves brothers in one form or another. Having to fight, not just Melencampe, but other former brothers as well was somewhat troubling to them. But the key adjective was former and that was what separated Ackerson and his team from their adversaries.

"What about this Melencampe fool?" Kaufman asked, wiping his face with a towel. "Think he really means what he says?"

"Maybe." Oliveira spoke up. "But to be honest, I wish he would've taken his little crusade somewhere else. After all he's in a ravaged country that hasn't done a thing to him. So why should I feel sorry for him?"

"I agree with Emilio here." Asher added. "Some of the things Melencampe says may be true, but that doesn't give him the right to take out his frustrations on other people, especially people that have just suffered a nasty civil war."

"You guys think he's a traitor?" Moore asked.

"I sure as hell think so." Rios quickly replied. "He used to fight for his country, and you usually join the military to fight for your country. Now, fight for your country could be interpreted as kill for your country. But he knows, and every other person in the military knows, that you follow orders, whether you like 'em or not. And hell yeah, the pay still sucks and yes people die. And it upsets me just as much as it upsets him, that at times, those sacrifices go forgotten. But that does not give him absolute reign to do whatever he wants."

"Amen to that gentlemen." Silver said. "If you ask me, he's just someone who likes the sound of his own voice. If he really wanted to change things he should've gathered a bunch of his fellow Special Forces guys and lobbied on Capitol Hill, and made some noise. I'm no political genius here, but he could've done it that way. But no, he didn't, and instead traded his patriotism for money. I mean, he is in charge of a corporation, let's not forget that. He may talk a good game of being concerned for the plight of the soldier, but just look at the obvious. Something is hidden from us, something he's not telling us. Being on television and all, pouring out his anger, and telling us the rest of the world doesn't care and hasn't fought for something. Well, listen here Mr. Melencampe, I've been through shit in my life prior to joining the SEALs. If he wants to act like he's the only one who's gotten fucked over in his life, well he's a damn fool for thinking so."

"Guess someone's riled up huh?" Brigham chuckled a little.

"Sorry Chief." Silver smiled sheepishly. "But I just hate seeing guys who think they're pure in everything they do and blaming their problems on everyone else. I can see right through him and I don't give a hoot if he's a fallen hero. All I know is that he needs to wake up and smell the roses, because the fact of the matter is, that this world is a lot shittier than he thinks."

"Understandable sailor." Brigham smiled. "Couldn't have said it any better. But if I must say something in addition to what you said, I'll just advise you boys to keep your sentiments out of this. Remember, we're here to follow orders and complete the mission. Seeing how you guys are reacting to Melencampe's speech I am just a bit concerned. I know you guys will shrug it off, but just listen to me on this. It may have been Melencampe's plan all along to make this tape, send if off, knowing damn well that we'd see it. Melencampe is a former Green Beret and just because he's switched sides, does not mean he's lost his touch. All Special Forces guys are some sly bastards and so is Melencampe. He knows how to use forms of propaganda to get into peoples' heads. That's a good ole trick of guerilla warfare and the SEALs have employed such tactics before. So yeah, what Melencampe probably said was bullshit. But it still may have been a part of his plan, all along, to get us to lose focus and we've all heard time and time again focus is what makes us professional. Getting emotional about things will only get people killed, but you guys already understand that. Let's not give this fella the satisfaction of cracking, because that is exactly what he wants gentlemen, count on it."

"And to touch on what the Chief said." Ackerson began to speak. "I don't want you gentlemen to be intimidated by who this guy is. Yes, he may have been the hero, who captured Bin-Laden, and yes, he has been in this business longer than any of us. But he is using his words to get you to sympathize with him. This is his plan, to get us to be weary of fighting him, because he gave his time for this country. But like Silver said, people can look right through this guy. He's taken over a helpless nation, he runs a company, and his words make it seem like he's just angry with no regard for his troops. He is a traitor, nothing more and nothing less. A mere man who just can't get his way. Well, sadly, we don't always get our ways either, and that's not just in the military. So don't feel sorry for this guy or any of his troops for that matter, they are our targets, and our enemies. But for mission sake, view them as targets. Hooyah?"

"Hooyah sir!" Everyone replied.

"Great." Ackerson replied. "Chows in a half hour. For those of you who wanna catch it, I suggest you hit the showers now. For those of you that choose to skip chow, I want you looking over the details of today's briefing, loading up H-harnesses, working on your weapons, et cetera. Basically I want you gentlemen doing something other than sleeping."

"What about jacking off sir?" Kaufman joked getting laughs from his teammates.

"No Jake." Ackerson laughed. "Playing with your shriveled up dick is not using your time constructively."More laughs.

"Don't pay him any mind sir." Rios replied. "We all know he shoots blanks anyways."

Laughter broke out across the room.

"Yeah, and if he keeps it up, he may run out." Moore chided.

"Okay gentlemen." Ackerson said sternly. "Enough of the comic relief. Get to work."

"Hooyah!"

* * *

Three of his men were hit, rolling on the ground and bleeding badly, as a brutal firefight raged on around them. For those that had been spared, hearing the screams of their comrades was very painful. Cruel as it may have sounded, this persistent adversary was more important than tending to the wounded. Ackerson tried to pick out the tell tale muzzle flashes of automatic weapons within the dense jungle fog. But instead of seeing clearly, he only heard the endless close snaps of bullets whizzing past his head. Whoever was shooting was shooting well, well enough to severely wound three of his men. Things were not looking good, but combat was always an ugly job, an ugly job that none of the embattled sailors were too fond of in the current moment. 

Trying to take control of the situation, Ackerson began yelling out orders, only to hear silence escape his lips. He tried again and again, without any success, as his men continued to get shot at. This was the most helpless Ackerson had felt in a long time, unable to issue orders and unable to save his men. He felt like he was drowning deeper and deeper fading away and losing control. Time slowed before his eyes, allowing him to see the sluggish and sickening demise of his men. One by one Ackerson watched them take bullet after bullet, their bodies jolting slightly from the vicious impacts. A few tried to get up and run, only to be cut down, by a salvo of lead, screaming as they fell towards the ground. Desperately wishing to not cower out of the fight Ackerson forced his body off the ground. But a sudden series of searing pains caused him to stumble forward. Gasping for air he struggled to hoist his up his rifle, seemingly unaware of the gunfire continuing around him. Sure of the fact that he was going to die, Ackerson fired blindly into the fog, screaming as each bullet flew from the muzzle. Then the dark figures emerged from the fog, destined to finish off their prey. Undeterred, Ackerson took aim and tried to fire, only to realize he had just finished off his last magazine. Falling to his knees, he dropped the rifle to the ground, held out his arms, and waited for the kill shots soon to come.

Aimlessly he stared towards the fog, noticing one of the dark figures motioning towards him. All around him, the bodies of his men lay sprawled in the dirt, crawling forward with their weaning strength. Watching his men be reduced to nothing more than feeble helpless beings ate at his soul. Ackerson could not bear to look at them any longer and wished this dark demon would be merciful enough to simply kill him. He had failed his men and thus felt undeserving of life. But the demon obviously had not heard Ackerson's request for mercy as he pulled out a pistol. Casually he aimed at the heads of the dying warriors, shooting them down like wounded dogs. Ackerson managed a weak scream of anger. All the wounds, all the stress, all the emotion had thoroughly exhausted the fallen sailor.

As the black figure stopped in front of him, the beaten commander closed his eyes, knowing what was going to happen next. He waited and waited, but nothing had happened. With nothing to lose Ackerson opened his eyes and stared into the gaze of the man in black balaclava. The gaze was cold and empty, void of emotion. A minute passed as the two men stared each other down. One was the victor while the other was the loser. In the silence of the moment Ackerson began to wonder why this man had not yet killed him.

"Just get it over with." Ackerson quivered with rage. "Just do it."

Nothing. The soldier remained silent, motionless and unaffected by the defeated warrior's harsh words. Instead, he opted to take off his balaclava. The face that appeared put Ackerson into a state of disbelief.

"You son of a bitch." Ackerson chuckled darkly.

"I'm not that greedy Carl." Meretti smiled. "I just wanted to see you fail."

"And how will turning against me or any of your other former comrades make you feel any better?"

"Oh." Meretti laughed. "I never said killing you or your men was going to make me feel better. As a matter of fact, it kind of saddens me that men with such talent, jumped into the meat grinder without a second thought. Sorry for the deaths by the way, but hey, that's how it works. If you guys never showed up, none of this would have ever happened. Never quite understood stubborn folks like you."

"I follow orders Meretti, something _you _never understood."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard the orders speech before. But what difference does it make to you? I'm the one with the gun." Cocking the hammer on his pistol.

"Get it over with then." Ackerson growled. "I'll save you a seat in hell."

"Appreciate looking out for me buddy." Pointing the pistol at Ackerson's head. "But you first."

BANG!

"Shit!" Ackerson hissed, knocking some papers onto the floor.

Looking up and taking notice of his surroundings, Ackerson slowly began to realize he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes he lifted his head up off the desk to reveal a plethora of notes and pictures scattered across the surface. He checked his watch, realizing he had only been asleep for a half hour. He stood up, unbuttoned his sweat-drenched collar and ran his fingers through his hair. _Hell'uva dream buddy. Hell'uva dream_.

"Looks like you saw a ghost." A familiar voice said.

"Huh?" Ackerson turned around, and hesitated when he saw it was Meretti. "Bad dream."

"Well damn Carl what kind of bad dream was it?" Meretti chuckled.

"What are you here for?" Annoyed.

"Hey, just chill out man. I was just stopping by to sort this shit out between us." Meretti was serious. "Don't think we need this beef on our minds before this mission. Y'know?"

"I'm listening."

"Don't expect me to kiss your ass or anything." Holding an outstretched hand.

"Likewise." Ackerson shook his rival's hand. "But I hear exactly where you're coming from. I think its best we let bye-gones be by-gones and concentrate on the important matters here. Appreciate the offer man."

"Hey. Just looking out for the platoon." Meretti said. "I still hold on to my opinions about this country and being in the military as do you. But I understand we're still in the Navy and we still got a job to do whether we like or not."

"That we do." Ackerson paused. "So how you boys fairing?"

"Same, y'know. Working out, briefings and more briefings. Don't think I'm working hard enough till I fall asleep on a desk."

Ackerson had a sincere laugh at that. "The nightmares are overrated."

"Well hey, don't dwell on it. We got a job to do remember?"

"Whatever. Just leave me alone with this stuff here. Gotta get it ready for the team brief."

"Understood Carl. See you at the mission brief." Walking out the door.

"Yeah… See ya."

Ackerson sighed and sank back into his chair. Leaning his head back he stared at the ceiling, swirling in thought. How ironic, he thought. The likelihood of the Meretti being a traitor was almost too much to stomach. As much as Ackerson hated the guy, he never believe he would do anything as rash as turn on his country. Meretti may have really believed in his opinions, but even he was not crazy enough to do such a thing.

But Ackerson did have to admit that seeing Meretti in his dream, as the man who killed him, suddenly appear as soon as he woke up was a bit eerie. Even weirder was the fact that Meretti offered a sincere apology of sorts and a chance to start anew. That was a surprise because Meretti came across as a self-righteous person who never believed in admitting his mistakes. Maybe Meretti was actually being genuine. No ulterior motives, no hidden agendas, just a sincere desire to work things out before they got ugly.

Going back to the dream, Ackerson once again began to ponder its meaning. He already dismissed the possibility of Meretti being a traitor. That being the case, there was probably a deeper meaning behind the dream, one not immediately apparent. Lost in the stirring silence of the empty room, Ackerson searched his thoughts for answers.

Watching his men die, unable to save them, was very painful. But what made that experience even worse the fact that Meretti was the one murdering them. Tempting, as it was to demonize Meretti as a traitorous murderer, Ackerson believed the spectacle represented his own failures as a leader. As he saw it, their deaths were bound to happen if he continued to let his hate for Meretti fester. Seeing Meretti kill them was a metaphor for Ackerson focusing too much on the rivalry, instead of focusing on his team. In more ways than one, his dream felt more like a prophetic vision of what could happen if he kept on this path of hatred.

Then again, the dream could have simply been a result of mounting stress relative to the mission. All Ackerson's fears, concerns, and annoyances rolled into one horrible experience. That made more sense, since he never really considered himself to be the philosopher type. But he was always puzzled by why he always asked more questions about the bad dreams than the good ones. Was it because he was afraid of something he had never really faced or was it because they were just more interesting than the good dreams? They were questions that had many answers. For the sake of time though, those answers would have to wait. Ackerson had a briefing to get ready for.

* * *

Lately, Carl had been letting his mind wander, a side effect of a few hours of sleep and an endless routine of meticulous preparations. Fatigue may have been a major contributor to Carl's wandering and mostly pointless thoughts. But every now and then he managed to find a gem, buried somewhere in his jumbled stream of consciousness. Most of the time, Carl kept those thoughts to himself and he did so for good reason. His men were relentless when it came to making fun of people and Carl was just as juicy a target as anyone else. Likewise, whenever he shared his latest musing, the others usually responded with a volley of laughter, which was always taken in good faith. Sometimes, he tried to defend the legitimacy of thoughts that he considered genuinely important. Unfortunately his futile attempts at convincing them were usually obliterated by an even louder series of laughs. Out of available options Carl often resorted to name calling, preferably labeling his men as big dumb oafs only managing to bring everyone to the brink of tears. And if that wasn't enough Carl playfully tried to explain how his mental prowess was far superior to that of everyone else's, usually throwing the group into hysterics. Carl never saw himself as a comedian, but apparently his men begged to differ. 

As he ate the last of his scalloped potatoes, Carl stumbled upon a thought he felt was worth discussing. There was a good chance that somebody was going to laugh at him, but he was a risk taker. _They might actually listen to me for a change_.

"Say?" Ackerson asked wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Any you boys thinking what I'm thinking."

The sailors looked up from their food a bit puzzled. "Sorry boss." Brigham grinned. "But I failed Telepathy 101. Try Kaufman though. He's always hearing voices in his head." A few sailors chuckled.

"You got something to say Chief?" Kaufman asked with a hint of challenge in his voice.

"No, but I bet you those voices do." Beaming.

"You know." Waving his fork at Brigham. "I'm seriously about to disregard rank and kick your ass."

"You. Kicking my ass?" Pausing for effect. "Not a chance in hell." Everyone laughed.

"Uh, gentlemen, I was going to say something, in case you forgot." Ackerson reminded them.

"Sorry el-tee." Brigham giggled. "And god dammit Kaufman! Will you please tell those voices to shut the hell up! They're freaking me out!" Garnering a few hearty chuckles.

"Chief." Ackerson said rather sternly. "Can I speak now?"

"Yeah, now that those voices are quiet." Throwing Kaufman a grin. "Go ahead."

_Christ_, Ackerson mumbled. "Now before I was rudely interrupted by two very undisciplined sailors." A brief smile came across his face. "I was gonna ask you guys if you thought this felt like one of those instances in which you'd hear one of those serious songs, kind of like the ones you hear in a dramatic movie scene."

"Aw shit." Brigham grumbled. "First Kaufman hears voices in his head and now el-tee has a radio in his. Next thing you know someone's gonna say they're the Messiah."

"God don't like ugly, Chief." Moore teased.

_So much for people taking me seriously_. Clearing his throat. "Stupid question obviously."

"Yeah, it was sir." Silver joined in. "But go ahead.

Ackerson looked at Silver not in contempt but in brief surprise. _It was about time the young guy started feeling his oats_, laughing lightly.

"Thanks for the boost of confidence Silver."

"No problem." He laughed.

"But yeah, however stupid my little question may have been I just decided to bring it up, because I feel like we're in one of those defining moments in our lives. Like this is one of those once in a lifetime chance to actually do something in this world."

Brief silence. _That struck a cord_. He wanted to smile.

"Well damn sir, why the hell didn't you say that in the first place?" Rios chided. "You know we can't possibly understand those ever so important philosophical meanderings of yours." Patting his commander on the shoulder.

"Yeah. That defining moment thing has always been in the back of mind." Asher added. "Just really haven't brought it into the light."

"Same here sir." Moore chimed in. "I'm the warrior who just looks at these things as nothing but jobs that just need to be done."

"I usually feel the same way." Oliveira agreed. "But I got a feeling this mission is more than just getting the job done. Like I told you guys before, I grew up in Brazil. I left just as things were going wrong. Now I return, as part of an effort to right the wrongs in the country I once lived. If anything, I'm a patriot, not so much for this country, but for my home."

"Well I can't say the same as Emilio here." Silver spoke up. "But whether or not I think about it often, I have to admit, this is a defining moment, in my career at least. This is an opportunity that a new guy rarely gets. Hell, it's an opportunity that many of us here warriors get. My first deployment ends up being in a battle that will likely be the first of it's kind. We're all a part of history here, and there is a lot of pressure to write this thing the right way. I want my sacrifice and our sacrifices to be etched in success, not in failure."

"Sacrifice is a strong word sailor." Brigham pointed out.

"That it is Chief, but we are sacrificing something ain't we? May not have to be as rash as giving your life, but it could be other sacrifices instead. For me, I gave up an easy life. I dealt with shit for the first sixteen years of my life in a dysfunctional family, I was homeless for a while, and I finally found redemption in a foster family that made me feel worth something. My life was the furthest thing from the Navy. Shoot, I could have followed through with my plan of working at an autobody, doing what I love, working on cars. I could have been oblivious and so far away from the misery of this business and not felt bad about it. I mean I had a harsh past so why would I want to ever leave an easy life? Well people I still don't know why I accepted this life. Maybe it was the thought of fighting with the best, a chance to prove something to all those folks who doubted me, including my biological father. But I chose to be a part of an organization whose motto is, 'the only easy day was yesterday'. I had to make a conscious decision about what I wanted to do with my life and this was it. So I gave up a life of ease to fight a war that no one asked me to fight. I may not be coming back alive from this thing. But if that ends up being my fate at least I'll die knowing I was a part of something bigger than myself."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly man." Asher said. "Sacrifice is a big part of this job and so is the personal aspect. But as I said earlier we usually keep our thoughts to ourselves. Combat and training really don't give us much time to ponder such things. But now that I have one of those rare chances to speak my mind I guess I'll take advantage of it." Asher explained. "I was always the guy that questioned the supposedly good intentions of this country. I mean, all those years of having to constantly hear about the war in Iraq and the war on terror drove me crazy. And being young and hot headed never made it any easier. It was frustrating as hell to see all the negative attention directed towards Islam and Arabs. This country acted like we were all terrorists and nothing but a bunch of crazy fundamentalists. There are instances I can remember when my family and I would go certain places and people would go silent, respond to us nervously, or just throw us some disapproving glances. People hated us then, I could feel it. And all this happened because of few wild cards decide to misinterpret the Koran and kill a bunch of innocent people. Just because some idiots decide to take things too far, does not mean everyone else who is part of the same ethnic or religious group, is the same way. We were just as angry as anyone else when 9/11 happened, not at Muslims, but those assholes that decided that God told them to kill a bunch of people. You got bad people all over the world, but it seemed like everyone just wanted to hate Arabs and Muslims all of a sudden."

"I could have decided to wallow in anger and let the ignorant label me as someone who wants to kill innocent people or someone who thinks that Jihad means blow shit up. But I didn't, because I wanted to prove to this country than I'm an American, whether they want to admit it or not. Despite my opinions about the government of this country and its politicians, I love being an American, as a citizen. So I wanted to show this by joining the Navy and by going even further to be a part of this organization. Now I can say I've fought this country's wars with the hope that some asshole would finally see that I love being an American just as much as them. But when you think about it it's kinda sad that I have to be in a war for someone to accept me as an American. If that's the barometer by which we should be judged as being a patriot, then this country is in for violent spiral downward. But hey, if that's what it takes, then at least I know I got the guts to do something that many people never can. And I bet you those same folks who label me as an extremist are the same one's who talk all this talk about how they'd be willing to fight for this country and how'd they be willing to defend it but never do. Willing and doing are two different things and doing is something those jerks will never understand. Fortunately, being a part of this mission has reminded me that I am one of the doers as are all the rest of us. Glad to be a part of this group fellas."

"We're glad to have you bud." Ackerson patted his shoulder.

"And just a word of advice Asher, this groups blind to race or any other differences that commonly separate people." Moore said. "We're not Black, Latino, Arab, or White. We're warrior, an equality that binds us and enables us to work together. Speaking from experience I was one of those defensive Black guys who never quite liked, much less trusted anyone who was white. But as soon as I got into BUD/S, I quickly learned that such petty misconceptions never got you anywhere. I suffered together with guys who were White, Asian, and Latino. In that suffering we were forced to work together, else we wouldn't survive. The constant punishment the instructors dished out constantly reminded us that we had to stick together, not for the sake of one man, but for the sake of the group. And considering how dangerous this business is, setting aside one's differences makes a whole lot of sense. But beyond the scope of pragmatism, this idea of being the same has created some last friendships for me. Pleasure to serve with you gentlemen."

A pensive silence quieted them for a few moments. "Rios, Kaufman." Brigham announced. "You two been holding out long enough. Gotta spill it."

"Okay, okay people." Rios groaned. "I'll spill it. But don't expect some long heartfelt explanation of things."

"Can you get to the point already?" Kaufman joked. "'Cause I wanna get my two cents in."

"Just wanna say that, while I may look at this mission as nothing more than another mission, I hope we all get back in one piece and that we kick these DE vatos so far up the ass that we'll need to new pair of boots just to get rid of the smell."

"HOOYAH!" Everyone cheered.

"Know that wasn't the best motivation speech in the world." Rios smiled. "But humor aside, I just want us to stick together as a team through this hell. Forgive me for being such an optimist but this battle will probably be one of the most trying moments in our lives. But as long as we remember that we're a team, I think, at best, we'll live to see another deployment. And regardless of how this thing turns out, at least we will fight this battle hard and fight it well. That's all I got people."

"And I'll finish by saying we should dedicate our efforts to a man who once fought alongside side us, a man who never once hesitated to fight as hard as he could, and a man who was a friend to everyone. Jacobs, this one's for you."

"Hooyah." The warriors said solemnly.

_So they actually did have something intelligent to talk about_. "Okay people." Ackerson stood up. "I think we've been chatting long enough. But in borrowing from Asher, its time to stop willing and time to start doing." Glancing at his watch." Full platoon brief in six hours. In the interim, I suggest you catch some z's. 'Cause once this thing starts there's no sleep 'til Brooklyn."

"Hooyah!"


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Brazil or Bust**

If stoicism were ever tangible it would have been in the form of eight warriors patiently awaiting the mission of their lives. Eyes were calm and mouths showed neither grins nor frowns. On the surface they made it seem like their mission was nothing more than a walk in the park. But their silent thoughts told a much different story. Beyond the objectives and beyond the preparations, there was a wild unknown each warrior had to consider. War never played by the rules of humanity. Instead, war was comparable to Mother Nature, a violent beast that could never be tamed. To do so would be considered an act of God and the last time these warriors checked, none of them was God. They were merely flesh and blood, unable to part the seas, reign down fire, or create the heavens. Why these men decided on facing down the demon, known as war, was a question no ordinary human being would be able to answer. Maybe such a question was never meant to have an answer for maybe war was simply the result of living in such a cold world. Peace would have been nice, but as long as men hated each other, warriors such as these men would always have a role.

Hidden away somewhere on the Jimmy Carter, members of the SEAL support teams were busy preparing weapons and gear for the impending operation. Meanwhile, the shooters were carefully going through the last but most important briefing before deployment. As always, the room was dark, but this time no one was smoking. Cigarettes only made people nervous and everyone involved in the operation needed to be calm. Likewise the standard morning coffee ritual was passed up as well. Caffeine made the warriors jittery and a bad case of the jitters was the last thing these men needed. Neglecting the occasional cigarette and coffee break may have been an annoyance of professionalism. But if professionalism prevented death from doing its job, then maybe the lack of cigarettes and strong coffee was not that bad of a trade off after all.

After going through the weather conditions for last half hour, the SEALs were more than ready to hear the more important details of the day.

"Thank you for the weather report lieutenant." Moggs said from the front of the room. "Now that we've gotten that squared away time for the intel. Captain Grayson."

Grayson walked to the front of the room and began putting various pictures and pieces of information up on the giant computer screen behind him. "Thank you senior chief. Gentlemen, what you're looking at is the intelligence gained from other SEAL teams conducting coastal reconnaissance around the periphery of the insertion zone near the city of Vitória. Not much seems out of the ordinary, beach patrols are usually done by roving bands of DE S-Groups accompanied by their equivalent of the M1025, which you can see behind me." Grayson pointed to a picture of a jeep like vehicle. "We have a grainy photograph of what the vehicle looks like. No need to tell you gentlemen that it may be a wise idea to stay away from those things.

"Next up, we have intelligence taken at the insertion zone. You all will be inserting via minisubs into a cove, the one you see in the photograph behind me. Some of your fellow teams have managed to set foot on the area already, without encountering resistance. But just because they encountered no hostile action does not mean the bad guys aren't there. But preliminary analysis suspects that this area is poorly guarded partly due to the fact that this area is extremely treacherous to guard.

"Once you are out of the water, you will exit the cove and proceed along the only path that could be found, an extremely rocky slope that is constantly bombarded by crashing waves. As one of the shooters told me, the rocky slope reminded him of rock portage during his BUD/S training. It will be challenging and very dangerous to insert this way, but according to your fellow warriors this is the stealthiest way to go. DE does not guard this location particularly well because of the mist created by the waves and the highly obscured ridgeline overlooking the slope. Only a few men can guard the ridgeline at one time and getting a good enough view of what's going on below is half the battle.

"And speaking of the bad guys, the guys guarding the insertion zone area are soldiers from the S-Group. Observation from the coastal recon teams has described these men as being somewhat annoyed with their jobs. They don't move around too much and there seems to be a total of thirty men guarding the facility. Now because DE seems to have the technology to scramble our Keyhole satellite cameras, we don't know if these guard groups are part of a nearby, larger garrison of soldiers or part of a battalion that happens to be passing through the area. To put it simply, we don't know the actual numerical strength of the enemy.

"But all is not lost. Based on the info we gained from our defector, the massive invisible shield that has managed to defeat our weapon systems and satellites is basically a massive culmination of electricity that operates much like a contained EMP. It apparently takes power from various sources, such as dams, fusion plants all spread out across Brazil. Electricity from these power nodes, as we've been calling them, is transferred via a series of radio wave systems to a central location that we believe holds the shield generator. According to our source, only a select few members of DE know where the EMP shield generator is. This extreme act of secrecy seems like an effort among the DE leadership to make sure no defector, or prisoner knows where the shield generator is. As interrogators learned, this source of ours was one of those DE soldiers kept in the dark about the generator's location. However, he said there was a way to disable a part of the shield's coverage.

"Your target's gentlemen are two locations that DE appears to be harnessing power from. One is a hydroelectric dam and the other is a fusion gas electric plant. Disabling both of these power sources will open up a three hundred kilometer north to south corridor in the shield's coverage stretching from the coastal city of Vitória to the borders with Bolivia and Paraguay. That means that all the equipment and weapons we use within this corridor will be unaffected by the EMP shield.

"The men guarding the various electric power sources are the U-Groups, the best of the best of the DE fighting crop. We don't know much about these men, and as our defector friend enlightened to us, not much of the S-Group guys know too much about the U-Groups other than the equipment they wear, the drugs they take that allow their minds to be controlled, and their supposedly heightened fighting abilities. It sounds very science fiction, but its not. DE has been working on various war technologies for years so this mind control drug seems very plausible. But in terms of what we don't know of the U-Groups, we don't know their tactics, we don't know their hierarchy, and we don't know how they specifically operate. I know it sounds comforting but it's the best information we have. That's why we're sending you boys in, to report on the kind of equipment they use, so when the cavalry comes in, they'll know what they're up against.

"I really wish I could give you gentlemen more information. We usually wouldn't send you guys in for an operation such as this. Yes the intel is bad and yes our source may not be as trustworthy as we think he is. But this is what we got to work with and having something to work with is better than nothing. Going in blind is essentially what we're asking you to do. But at least we have the targets which Senior Chief Moggs will explain in his mission execution part of the brief. Gentlemen, I wish you all the best of luck." Turning to Moggs. "Senior Chief you have the floor."

"Thank you Captain." Moggs nodded towards Grayson. "Time to begin the mission execution brief." A satellite image of Brazil appeared, zooming in to a distinct location. "Gentlemen, in exactly two hours you will begin Operation Marathon, an appropriate name for what can only be described as an epic undertaking. Your platoon callsign is Wanderer 1 and you will insert via minisubs towards a cove fifteen klicks north of Vitória. The coastal recon teams have already mapped out the paths for you, already uploaded to the minisubs. Once you reach the cove you will progress out of the water, up a rocky slope, to a hill overlooking the city. Once you reach the hill, you will proceed along a northwesterly course, about 610 klicks to the northern most tip of the Paraná River. Once your platoon reaches the Paraná you will separate into two groups, callsigns being Misery 1 and Misery 2.

"Ackerson." Moggs announced as the satellite image moved. "Your team is designated as Misery 1. You all will be responsible for disabling the power source at Itumbiara Hydroelectric Dam near the city of Itumbiara. The Dam is situated along the Paraná, just a few klicks west of Itumbiara and Itumbiara will be the first biggest city you encounter along the river. Meretti, your team is designated as Misery 2 and you all are responsible for disabling power at Uberlandia fusion gas electric plant near the city of Uberlandia, roughly 210 klicks south of the northern tip of the Paraná. Once both teams successfully disable the power sources you will rendezvous at Santa Fe do Sul, just south of the Grande and Paraná River intersection. Once you join up as a platoon, your callsign changes to Jailbreak 1. You will then give the code phrase for commencement of H-Hour, which is, _misery loves company_. Once you say that, the whole of allied forces will move in. But during that time you will await the arrival of the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment. While awaiting their arrival it is best advised you do not make contact with the enemy. But if you must engage, do so only in self-defense with expectations that the engagement will not draw out heavier follow on forces that may jeopardized the arrival of the Rangers Do not look for the Rangers, they will look for you. By the time those Airborne Rangers arrive, allied forces will have essentially established a decent foothold on Brazil.

"Gentlemen, you all will be part of a larger element of allied Special Forces groups consisting of British SAS and SBS, US Army Special Forces, Australian SASR, German KSK, and Polish GROM. Every one of these groups is working on various aspects of the operation. We are responsible for opening up the corridor in the shield's coverage. The real invasion will be also consisting of a multinational force consisting of nations from Europe and South America. For times sake I will say various elements of the US Army are waiting at Puerto Suarez, Bolivia for the your go-ahead to move in. Meanwhile, the Marines will be busy fighting their way in from the coast. But an element of airborne Rangers will jump in with a simultaneous push by various other Army Divisions. Once the Rangers have managed to link up with you all, you will officially be on lone to them. That means you will be receiving your operational tasking from the Rangers, until the rest of SEAL Team Four can establish a foothold in Brazil.

"Since I've summarized the path you gentlemen will take, I will now describe the details of this mission. Your tasks consist of reconnaissance and direct action. The recon half of this mission will have you providing updates on what you have seen. I know radio contact will be out of the question, since most everything we use via satellite is blocked by the EMP shield. But our source was so kind as to lend us some computer hardware that DE uses to break through their own little electric curtain. You all will be able to send us pictures and email of all that you have seen. We're not asking for book reports out there, just photos of anything you deem worth mentioning. Each man will be assigned a digital camera as a means of insurance. We know things can go wrong with that kind of stuff in the field, which is why each one of you is receiving one. According to our tech geniuses, all you have to do is snap a photo, take out the USB card, stick it into the USB port, load the photo to the laptop and send it off to us. You all have done this type of stuff before, in Latin America so this should be nothing new.

"Direct action or taking care of the power sources will be a somewhat different exercise, but something all of you can do. Petty Officer Rickers will explain how to disable the power sources each of you was assigned. Petty Officer."

"Thank you chief." The young man nodded. "Alright guys, what I'm holding here looks like an extremely small brick of C-4, with a small black box centered on the top. I'll ask the team demolition experts to come up here for a sec to demonstrate how to use this weapon."

Kaufman and the other demolition expert of the platoon joined the sailor at the front of the room.

"If you gentlemen could each take a brick. Okay, all you have to do is flip this small switch on the top of the small black box, before you set the brick to an object and detonate it. Turning the switch on activates the EMP. But the EMP will do its real work when the brick of C-4 explodes. Simple right?"

The two flanking sailors nodded.

"Great, thanks guys. You two can take a seat now. For the team leaders, I will explain just exactly how you will disable the power sources. Lieutenant Ackerson your team will be disabling the Itumbiara Dam. In order to do this, you must place a brick of C-4 on each of the fourteen turbines harnessing the hydroelectric power. Each turbine should have a control box, plain in sight. You will place the brick of C-4 on the control box and simply detonate it from there. The resulting EMP should permanently disable any electric components powering the Dam. Ordinarily, it simply would have been easier to just blow the whole dam. But since there is a probable civilian population in the way of the river, basic demolition is not an option.

Ackerson and Brigham took a few notes.

"Lieutenant Meretti, you all are responsible for disabling and destroying the Uberlandia Fusion Gas Electric plant. While simple explosives on tanks of gas could have done the trick, we just want to be sure all electric components are disabled as well. In order to permanently disable power at the fusion plant, you'll have to place bricks of C-4 on a total of four generators. Each generator contains enough pure electricity and gas to burn a crater in the earth and we want to create a crater big enough for the boys at DE to see.

"Each of these weapons has been tested countless times and has ninety-five percent success rate. I know you guys wish it was a hundred percent, but it's the best we could do. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Then thank you and give 'em hell fellas."

"Thanks a lot Petty Officer." Moggs said. "A final note about meeting up with any resistance. The brass at SOCOM was reluctant to do this, but they did approve of linking up with any possible Brazilian resistance you encounter. They probably have a lot more information than we do about how to beat these guys. It may be tempting to try and help them and I am not barring you gentlemen from doing so. But I will warn you to not detach from your primary objectives. I know that helping such people will help establish a functioning relationship. However, it is hard not to get attached to helping such people who are quite possibly getting destroyed trying to fight this enemy. Still if you must get involved with any form of prolonged engagement, in support of the resistance, try to not be discreet about your presence. If any of you are spotted helping any resistance, then DE may do something we previously did not anticipate. I will not be on the battlefield with you so I cannot say how difficult it would be to work with embattled resistance. Do what your gut tells and you should be alright out there.

"This concludes the briefing session gentlemen. I won't hark on a bunch of patriotic points, but I will say this. You all will be on this operation for a long, long time. For the most part you all will be alone, surrounded by a bunch of elite soldiers that will not hesitate to kill you. This operation is a big gamble and as the boys and girls in Washington think, success is not on your side. But I know you all do not pay heed to negative criticism and as a result, I expect you to rise above expectations. A lot of troops and civilians are counting on you to pull this feat off. At times your tasks will seem outright impossible, but this is the moment you've worked for all your lives. Your lives will be hell for the next few months, but no one man is in hell alone out there.

Moggs took time to regard his men with a stern gaze.

"Look out for each other out there and complete your mission. No SEAL team in history has embarked on a mission with such caliber. While in no way belittling the sacrifices and triumphs of your predecessors, you all are making history just like they made. People doubted our abilities in the past but we overcame. You all overcame during Hell Week and you overcame all the hardships associated with being active duty SEALs. Adversity is what we face all the time. But what do I have to say about that? Do to adversity what you have always done to it. Flip that muthafucka the bird and knock his scrawny ass back into next week." Moggs smiled.

"HOOYAH!" The sailors roared.

"Alright gentlemen, time to kick ass. I expect you all to be suited up and ready to go within the next half hour. Dismissed."

The warriors stood up and filed out the door.

"You ready?" Brigham stopped Ackerson.

"To knock adversity into next week? Any need to ask?" Ackerson smiled.

"That'a boy." Patting his commander on the back. "Now all you gotta do is prove it on the battlefield."

"Enough talk then, lets do it."

"Hooyah sir!"


End file.
